Walls
by Complicity
Summary: A heavily pregnant Jac Naylor is the victim of an opportunistic violent attack, and the resultant events surprise everybody, not least the father of her child. A dark tale...
1. 1

**Walls.**

**A/N. More fic! Jac fic. The words keep flying out at the moment so I'm rolling with it. This one is going to some dark places, just as a warning. There are big plans, so fingers crossed I'll manage to stick with it. Read, enjoy, let me know what you think! x Sarah (I don't think I've ever had this many docs uploaded at once..!)**

**1.**

"_I don't want to prescribe medication. I don't want to tell you how we'll do this. Ms Naylor, I want you to be in control. You already know what's happening. You know why I'm here, what I'm going to say and the outcome I'm looking for. Can you work with me? Do you think we can try and talk this through scientifically?" Jac's eyes flick to the hand that is placed over hers on the bed._

"_Please don't touch me."_

**ooooo**

Jac opens her eyes, or rather, eye. Her left eye, and she lets it blink involuntarily, surprised to find her living room bathed in in a soft glow of light; That it's light outside. Her right eye faces more of a struggle. It feels huge and puffy, and she knows the glue that holds is closed is blood. Her heart pounds, nay, flutters in her chest. She feels sick. Her first instinct is to cry, but instead she grits her teeth with stone cold determination.

The right side of her face is pressed against her living room carpet. From the swelling and the throbbing and the stain she can see on the floor she suspects it's stuck fast with blood. She can see her coffee table, and a litter of blurry items before her. After a few more blinks she's surprised to find that one of those things is her left hand. As if spurred on by the recollection of its existance she drags it down towards her stomach and places it on her bump. 30 weeks worth of bump, and she suddenly realises that's why her heart is so terrified, hammering away. She balks, gasps, and presses both hands hard into the carpet, pushing herself up and over onto her back. Both hands fly to her stomach and her chest screams out in protestation. Every breath, in fact, is tortuously painful. She wonders how many rib fractures she's chalked up. She's comforted by the shifting of her baby in her womb. It feels strong, and normal, and she shuts her eyes again with an incredible kind of relief.

She needs help. She looks over to the coffee table again, and reaches out for her Iphone which, smashed screen aside, is just within reach and mercifully still appears to be working. She yelps aloud as she stretches for the thing, retrieves it and breathes heavily for a few moments after the exertion. Her head is spinning, aching, and her chest is full of daggers. She almost gives up then and there, but manages to keep herself together, to not cry, as she realises she has no idea who to call. She's unnerved, inexplicably unwilling to speak to the emergency services, and sure as hell not going to let Jonny see her like this. Her tongue reaches out and touches a split bottom lip. She needs somebody practical, and level headed, and unshakeable, and before she finishes thinking she's dialled Mo's number.

"8." The registrar answers groggily, without a greeting. "My shift starts at 8, not a minute sooner." It might be the sound of Mo's voice, or the realisation that she doesn't even know what time it is, or perhaps even the full gravitas of the situation she's in, but Jac opens her mouth and nothing comes out. She tries again. "Jaaac?" Her colleague sounds annoyed. Jac lets out a sob, or a yelp, or something in between and then whines at the pain it causes in her chest. "Jac? What's going on?" Irritation snaps into concern.

"I need help." It's a wheezy croak. "I need you. My flat." Her head is spinning, and she shuts her eyes in an effort to steady herself.

Jac could swear it has only been a second, but the next thing she's aware of is a hand against her neck. She panics, and gasps, and tries to push it away with a pathetic squeal. Her eyes fly open, suddenly facing Mo Effanga. The registrar is leaning over her, two fingers pressed against her neck to monitor her pulse and another hand holding something against her head wound. The woman's eyes are wide, panicked, but in control.

"Sssh. Jac you're safe. You're safe. The ambulance is coming."

"Don't tell him." She manages softly. "Don't let him see. Please."

"I won't." Mo agrees, would agree to anything. "Not just yet."

**ooooo**

Mo has to steady herself against Jac's door frame for a moment as she follows the paramedics out of the flat. She takes a quick glance back at the trashed living room, the bloodstains. She thinks she might vomit, so she turns away again and jogs to catch up as they step into the lift. She's in tears by the time they reach the vehicle.

"Okay?" One of the paramedics asks carefully as they strap the patient in.

"Yeah. Yeah. Fine. Let's just get going."

"She was conscious?" The same paramedic asks. "Do you know what happened?"

"A bit. In and out. And no, she just called me. It was like that when I got there, she was just there on the floor."

"She's your friend?"

"Yeah." Mo considers that notion for a second, struck by the pallor of Jac's skin and the way it contrasts so harshly with the angry red wound on one side of her face, the split lip on the other. She blinks back tears and grabs Jac's hand instinctively. "She had chest pains, before, I'm worried about her ribs. Pneumothorax? She's tachycardic, what's her BP?"

"90/50. Shit."

"Okay. Well, could be that. Could be the baby. It could be an abruption. We need to get Gynae on standby. Elliot Hope too." The paramedic looks confused at the last comment, and Mo fumbles for her phone, ringing Elliot herself. "What happened Jac?" She whispers to nobody but herself as she dials. "Elliot?" She snaps as soon as he answers the phone. He's breathy, sounds like he's on the way up from his car.

"Morning Mo. What can I.."

"ED. Get there, now. I'm in an Ambulance with Jac, it could, she could have a punctured lung. She's, it's not good."

"Oh." He sounds like he's stopped in his tracks. She wants to clarify but she hangs up when she notices the paramedic struggling with the IV.

"Give that here." She demands, shaking slightly herself, aware that Jac's BP must be flooring if it's this much of a struggle. She snags it first time and pushes the fluids. "Ring ahead again." She whispers, scared. "Tell them to cross match 5 litres of O-neg."

"Yep." Comes the reply from the front seat. "2 minutes away."

Elliot is standing by the ambulance bay with a team from ED, looking fairly out of place in his jacket, still clutching his briefcase. Everybody flies into action as the back doors swing open and they wheel her into view of the Consultant, who makes eyes at Mo and visibly balks.

"37 year old female," the paramedic starts as they move swiftly towards Resus, "GCS 12 at the scene, falling to 6, and there's an obvious head wound. She's 30 weeks pregnant and she's been attacked."

"Attacked." Elliot echoes, shocked, ignored by the ED team. Mo loses steam as they crash through the doors of Resus and she's shouldered out of the mix. She slowly follows them in but watches from the other side of the room. They'd cut Jac's top off in the ambulance to reveal a mottling of angry red bruises on her chest. Now, as they shift her onto her side and move her, Mo has to look away as she spots what can only be a boot print on her back. Elliot and Mr T share the same glance of horror as they spot the injury.

It doesn't take very long for Mr T to establish that they need to deliver, Elliot in tow, and a shout to alert GS too as they grimly acknowledge how extensive the injuries could be. "Cross match 5 more units." Mr T orders at they make their way to theatre. "Quickly please. Placental abruption, they're both in distress." The words ring in Mo's ears, and she doesn't realise she still has tears in her eyes until a nurse asks her if she's alright. Then she knows she has to be, because her duty isn't done yet. She makes her way slowly to the lift, getting her phone out again but pausing as she finds Jonny's number.

**ooooo**

"Okay, has anybody seen a senior medic? Seriously, any surgeon will do right now!" Jonny announces incredulously at the Nurses' station, waving around the as yet unsigned-off day's theatre lists. He takes another breath and prepares to unleash a tirade of annoyance, but stops short as he sees Hanssen approach from the lift.

"Can I have everybody's attention please?" He commands an audience easily over the headless ward. Jonny stands forefront, arms folded, confused.

"Darwin is temporarily closed to new admissions." Their great leader looks at his shoes for the briefest of moments, but it's enough to tell the nurse that something's going on. Jonny's phone trills into life; it's Mo. He rejects it quickly, irked when she calls again almost instantaneously. "Take the call, Nurse Maconie." Hanssen speaks quite solemnly, and Jonny wordlessly obliges, his heart fluttering nervously as he starts to suspect the worst. He excuses himself, moving to the other end of the corridor to answer. His worry is less than abated as he watches Hanssen share something with the rest of the team, and the way hands fly to mouths and concerned glances are exchanged.

"Mo?" He answers nervously. "Are you okay?"

"Um. You need to come downstairs."

"What, why? Are you okay?" He keeps eyeing the scene on Darwin. Shocked faces, and Hanssen taking Ollie aside to establish if they have any urgent cases, by the look of it.

"It's Jac. Um. Gynae Theatre 1. I'm outside." The news silences him. He's rooted to the spot for just a moment. Jac. Why the hell didn't he guess it was Jac? He should have known. He catches Ollie's sympathetic gaze as the F2 turns away from Hanssen, and then he's running for the stairs, cursing every extra wasted second.

Jonny barrels straight into Mo outside theatre as she blocks his path. "What's happening? Why's? I don't, tell me!"

"Jonny calm down."

"Are you bloody kidding?"

"They've delivered." His blood runs cold.

"But it's too soon." 30 weeks, that's all. She's in danger, he knows it.

"You're a Dad, mate, you're a Dad. It's a girl." He's tense. Mo looks terrified, and this is far from the whole story. He just knows. "She's just been taken to SCBU. It took a little while but she's breathing by herself, nice and strong. You should go down there."

"Jac?" He asks, and Mo bites her lip. He pushes past her to get to theatre, ignoring her protestations, his heart in his throat.

"Packs! She's in DIC. Shit!" Jonny's rooted to the spot immediately in the viewing gallery. Mr T is frantically trying to stem a bleed, and he's shocked to see Elliot there too, monitoring her with the anaesthetist.

"Airway and breath sounds still clear; It's definitely your end. Checking her pupils. Fine, Sats dropping though. Mr Thompson, BP is 70/30. Falling."

"Clotting factors, now! I need to perform a hysterectomy. Hang in there Jac." A scrub nurse moves out of the way and Jonny suddenly sees her face. He places his hands on the glass quickly, steadying himself as the scene swims in front of him. The angry red swelling around her right temple, and the wound that's being stitched by a surgical registrar.

"Jonny Mac." Mo's voice is soft behind him. He turns, and they stare wordlessly at each other. Shock, horror, all of that stuff they see in strangers every day, plainly on one another's faces.

"What happened?"

"Sit down." She orders, joining him on the plastic chairs. "Here's what we're going to do."

**ooooo**

_Jac's in her own head, and she can't see a way out. Her subconscious is stronger, she fears, than any other part of her at the moment. It's determined to rerun her nightmare over and over, and she's woefully without the control to stop it. _

_She wakes to a bang, like something falling over in her living room. Or, the sobriety of midnight tells her, someone in her living room. She's annoyed, ratty and high tempered already through sleep deprivation. Instinct draws her out from under the covers, and leads her into the badly thought out, ballsy set of actions that every woman wonders if she'd be capable of. When it ultimately comes down to fight or flight. Her breath catches in her throat as she crashes into the living room, and the man who's rifling through a cabinet looks up, straight at her. His eyes are childlike and naive, and she knows how momentary her window of action is so she brings the paperweight that she's wielding up above her head. But then she realises that he doesn't look scared, and just as that thought reaches her integrated consciousness another set of arms, big and burlish, grab her from behind. She's relieved of the paperweight, a hand clamps over her mouth, and she could swear that all of her breath leaves her body. Suddenly she's not the protector anymore. She's the foolish little girl who's put the welfare on her unborn child on the line in a reckless act of anger. He's still holding her arms above her head so they can't snake over her bump, and she's powerless to stop the punches, kicks, seemingly endless impacts against her body. She shuts her eyes. She wails pathetically. And then she feels a dagger through her skull before she's plunged forcefully into an inky black nothing._

_She wakes to a bang, and it starts all over again._

**ooooo**

Mo bleeps herself into SCBU with her ID card. Jonny doesn't react, and despite all the heartache she can't help but smile at the scene in front of her. The tiny little baby is wired up to monitors, locked into a plastic box, the smallest little mask providing her with 100% oxygen. Jonny's hands are prone against the the box, his head resting on it too. His gaze is so fixed on his baby, watching her breathe, Mo's sure she could start a marching band and he wouldn't notice. She places a hand on his back.

"I've just come from ITU, they're going to extubate Jac. The DIC's reversed but Elliot's getting antsy. She's punctured a lung before apparently." He turns to face his friend.

"Is she alright?"

"Looks like she'll be fine." Mo gives his shoulders a squeeze, feels some of the weight lifting from them. Jonny puts his head in his hands.

"Thank god." He lets his friend pull him into a hug. "How am I supposed to be in two places at once?"

"That's what I'm for." Mo answers gently. Tears prick her eyes for what must be the thousandth time in a 24 hour period as she peers over Jonny's shoulder at the baby. "So I'll go back up there, and you just stay here for now. That little mite needs you."

Michael Spence is sounding out two Police Officers as Mo approaches ITU. He grabs her arm as she walks past him, sending the Police back down to the cafe. "Damn vultures." He announces under his breath.

"She awake then?" Mo asks, wondering why she's being detained.

"Yeah."

"And, she's okay?"

"Physically yeah. It's all good."

"But not mentally?" The registrar gets a strong sense of foreboding.

"I'm not sure."

"How are you not sure?"

"Well, you know Jac. She can be.." He stumbles over the right word.

"Moody? Sociopathic? Verging on a complete mental breakdown?" Michael squirms as she speaks, and she suddenly realises that's exactly what he means.

"I've ordered a head CT and I'm keeping Neuro in the loop. But, I dunno. It could just be Jac being Jac. Maybe she just needs time and space. I'm toying over paging Psych, once we've ruled out cranial swelling."

"Have you mentioned any of this to her?"

"You try." He orders, then heads away from ITU to chase up the CT. "Hey," he stops a nurse, "I want you to transfer Ms Naylor to Holby Care this afternoon."

"Yes Mr Spence."

Mo bites her lip nervously, then pushes the door to Jac's room open with a false smile. The response she gets from the woman in the bed is somewhat lacking. "Hey," Mo tries, taking a seat by the bed and grasping Jac's hand and bruised wrist in hers. "How're you feeling?"

"Like my ribs are broken." The comment is flat and factual.

"I just came from SCBU, I've seen her!" Jac looks genuinely confused, bordering on uninterested at this remark. "Has nobody told you anything?" Jac shrugs slightly.

"I haven't asked." Mo hears the door swing as Michael reappears in the room, and she takes it as a warning to tread carefully.

"Okay. You've got a beautiful little baby girl. Not out of the woods or anything quite yet, but she's breathing by herself. She's strong, it looks good." Mo feels her own voice cracking a bit as she speaks, desperately trying to make eye contact with Jac, who's staring at the ceiling. She's outwardly unaffected by Mo's words, not even a sheen of tears, not even a flicker on the monitor, just indifference.

"Oh." She answers quietly. Michael moves to the other side of the bed.

"Jac, I just want to check your pupils. How's the head?" He leans over her with the torch and Mo feels her stiffen at his actions. Her jaw's set and she doesn't react to the violation, just tugs her hand back from Mo.

"Head's fine. Actually, could you not touch me?" The second bit is aimed at Mo, who shares a glance with Mr Spence. They excuse themselves.

"I think page Psych." Mo announces, leaning on the wall outside ITU. "Something's not right."

"You don't think it's just Jac?"

"She's completely detached. She's acting like she's not even bothered about the baby."

"Well, she knows it's okay." He reasons. "And yeah, she's detached, but like I said it's Jac. I've seen her go through worse, you know, and pick herself back up again."

"Have you?" Mo's unconvinced. "Do we really even know what happened yet? Her flat was trashed." They both turn to observe the patient through the window. "I think she's a fighter, and a crier with all the hormones in her head at the moment. I think she should be pushing you out of the way, demanding to get down to SCBU, and ignoring reason."

"Yeah," Michael reluctantly agrees, "me too." He sighs. "What to do think, acute stress reaction?"

"I think, end amateur hour and page Psych." She repeats more forcefully.


	2. 2

**Walls.**

**A/N. Hi! Thanks for the reviews to the first bit! I'm hitting struggletown around part 4 at the moment, but it's planned out to be around 6 installments, so plenty more angst bunnies coming! x Sarah**

******2.**

"She opened her eyes!" Jonny appears on ITU, jogging down the corridor, oblivious to the grave mood of the two surgeons in front of him. "Jac's awake, yeah? Where is she?" He spins around, answering his own question as he spots her through the window of her room.

"Jonny," Mo warns, reaching out to hold him back but not acting quickly enough. He bursts into her room, oblivious to her lack of reaction, and takes a pew by her side. He's handsy, overexcited, and Mo sighs as she watches Jac squirm away from his grasp. She steps into the room as he's showing her photos that he's taken on his phone. Jac's gaze is still fixed resolutely on the ceiling.

"Hey, will you look?" He demands in a light, friendly tone. "Look! And this is when she opened her eyes. Green eyes! I think she'll be ginger."

"Jonny," Mo's voice is warning behind him, "go easy." He looks at her in confusion before turning back to Jac, noticing how subdued she is for the first time. He looks at the bruises that cover her wrists, and the bandage on the right hand side of her face that reminds him of the laceration he saw in theatre. He sees her split lip and the purple bruise on her jaw that accompanies it. He takes a shaky breath and strokes her arm gently, pained when she recoils from his touch.

"She's doing well." He starts again more gently, determined to tell her about the baby. "We can think about, names? Any ideas?"

"You deal with it." Her flat unfeeling words chill him a little.

"I think, um, I could get you down to see her later? Maybe get her up to Holby Care with you in a day or so?" Pipe dreams, he knows.

"Can't you just deal with it? And, stop touching me." She repeats, her tone still level.

"Will you at least look?" He brandishes the phone again, his voice breaking.

"No."

"Jac, what happened?" He has tears in his eyes now, and he's scared that she doesn't.

"Leave me alone." She turns away from him, the effort of which looks painful.

"Please?" He tries once more, but Mo puts her hands on his shoulders and drags him away.

"Come on." Michael is waiting for them outside.

"Mo, the police want to speak to you. I told them they can't see her," he nods towards Jac, "until after the Psych assessment."

"Psych?" Jonny echoes, the gravity of the word troubling him further.

"Yeah." Michael confirms. "And I guess the best thing you can do is go be with your daughter. Congratulations, by the way. Good to hear she's doing well." He pats Jonny on the back, but the sentiment feels empty in the current circumstances.

Michael waits at ITU reception, somewhat anxiously, for Dr Kozinsky. The fellow American arrives with a smile. "Mr Spence, always nice to have the pleasure."

"Yeah, not today." He speaks solemnly, getting the woman's full attention with his words.

"You have a consult for me?"

"It's Jac Naylor."

"Oh." Her surprise is evident. "I heard she was attacked last night, I didn't realise she was up here." Here, of course, meaning the crushing life or death reality of ITU. "Seriously, who attacks a woman in her 3rd trimester?" She speaks with disgust. "She's out of the woods, though?"

"I think so."

"What's the problem?" Michael sighs, acutely aware of the gravitas attached to his decision to make this official.

"She's, uh, in shock I think. I'm worried. She's almost totally incommunicado, not even interested in hearing about the baby. She has her defences up, sure, but it's a bit, I dunno." Inwardly he ponders his inability to describe her condition, and wonders if it's significant. "Ms Effanga agrees." He adds, as if to reassure himself more than anything else.

"Okay." Dr Kozinsky is staring at him, analysing, and it makes him feel shifty. "Get me the notes, I'll go see her."

**ooooo**

"Jac?" The voice at the door drags her from her reverie of nothingness. "May I come in?" She looks at the voice.

"Psych? Wow. They finally decided to make the whole, 'Naylor's a Sociopath' thing official then."

"Yeah, Psych." Dr Kozinsky moves properly into the room, surprised by her patient's quip, and is so bold as to take a seat in the plastic chair by Jac's bed. "I've been called down to assess you. Is that okay?"

"Would my answer make any difference?" Dr Kozinsky places her hand over Jac's and she freezes, she wasn't expecting the woman's touch.

"I don't want to tell you how we'll do this. Ms Naylor, I want you to be in control. You already know what's happening. You know why I'm here, what I'm going to say and the outcome I'm looking for. Can you work with me? Do you think we can try and talk this through scientifically?" It sounds meaningless and rehearsed, maybe it's supposed to. Jac's eyes flick to the hand that is placed over hers on the bed.

"Please don't touch me." The hand is removed obligingly. "Or, talk to me like I'm 5. I'm too tired for that." The surprise at her coherent state is palpable, and Jac wonders what Michael Spence told this woman. That's me, she thinks to herself, successfully surprising the caring profession since the 1980's. There's a brief silence as the doctor opens the folder in front of her. Jac wonders if she's doing this on purpose, trying to initiate trust and openness. It only seems to succeed in making her feel violated and uneasy.

"This isn't your first Psych assessment." She leafs through Jac's medical notes, digging through years of trauma, all documented with cold surgical precision. "You had one when you were 17; Anger Management issues."

"Yes, well, they deal them out like sweeties when you're in care. They brand you as mental just incase it's not already hard enough to get into University and support yourself with no help at all."

"You sound like you might want to open up to me." The Psychiatrist stops leafing through the notes abruptly.

"No, but, you're sitting there reading through a folder that contains my life so there'd be little point in being coy."

"Is this your life?" She holds the file up for Jac to see. "Defined by medical professionals?"

"Mostly." Jac admits. Dr Kozinsky just nods.

"Do you remember what happened last night?"

"No." Jac answers far too quickly; She's never been any good at lying. The breathlessness that follows takes her by surprise though. Her heart starts to whirr into overdrive and she quickly puts a hand on her chest, scared, can't catch a proper breath. She shuts her eyes as she feels a bit lightheaded, and willingly grasps for the oxygen mask that's passed to her. In a few minutes she steadies herself, becomes aware of the machine to her left that's bleeping to signify her tachycardia. "Elliot Hope." She manages, between gasps. She thinks she's been here before. Dr Kozinsky shakes her head.

"You don't need Elliot. You're having an anxiety attack." The words silence her. She wants to deny the notion, sound the psychiatrist out, scoff about knowing her own body; As a surgeon. She can't though, because she's frightened. She feels an overwhelming lack of control over her situation, her mood, even her own thought process. She fidgets, needs something for her hands to do, mostly she just wants to be alone.

**ooooo**

Mo sits in the Darwin staff room. The door has been closed which is unusual in itself. She cups the mug of tea that's been placed before her by the female officer. The first sip tells her it's too weak, too milky, not enough sugar. It's in Jonny's mug, too, which is so absolutely unheard of. She hates staying strong. She knows it's selfish, but she hates having nobody to look after her, and make sure the little things don't change. She's scared of how permanent some of these changes could be.

"Right. Maureen Effanga?"

"Mo."

"Okay Mo, I'm PC Sarah Hutchens, my colleague here is PC David Walsh. We just want to have an informal chat about the events of last night. Is that alright with you?"

"Go for it. I don't know how I can be much help."

"You found Ms Naylor at her flat?" She sighs.

"Yeah. She rang me, I'm not sure what time, half 6 maybe?"

"That's okay, we can check that out." She makes a note.

"She just asked for my help, then, passed out I think. I couldn't get anything else out of her. I went straight over there." She puts her head in her hands, not keen to relive the sight that greeted her at Jac's flat.

"Then what happened?" The woman's voice encourages her softly.

"Er, the building was open. That was weird, I think, maybe the electrics had failed? It's supposed to be on a keypad, but it just wasn't locked. A few doors were bust open, not just Jac's, two or three I think." The police officer nods.

"Just burglaries. They were reported and we have a team checking the building over now. Nobody else was hurt."

"Good." She's not sure she means that, or cares, the selfishness rearing its head again. "Then, I went into her flat, calling for her." She pauses, bites her lip again. "Well, you'll see what state that's in. Stuff everywhere. Shelves tipped over. TV gone. I almost didn't see her amongst it all." Tears shine in her eyes. "Such a state. I don't suppose the blood will come out of that carpet. She was pregnant, for god's sake. Who does that?" The police officers exchange a glance with one another. "I called the ambulance straight away, she'd lost quite a lot of blood from the head wound. She came round a bit, she actually seemed okay then, but her BP was in her boots so it didn't last for long."

**ooooo**

"Mr Spence tells me you don't want to see your daughter, or hear how she's doing?" Dr Kozinsky tests the water, honestly unsure of the response she'll receive.

"That's right." She admits it quite defiantly.

"Why?"

"I just don't want to know. I want. I want it to never have happened. I'm not a Mother, and nobody can force me to be one. That's not shock, it's just, what I want."

"Do you know how that sounds?"

"I can't help how it sounds." Dr Kozinsky can't deny her worry at Jac's words, and the sincerity of her tone.

"I don't think you're well, Jac." Her patient shuts off at the words, the Psychiatrist can almost see the walls rebuilding themselves, the numb defence. The emotional shutdown.

"You want to find a label for an illness that doesn't manifest itself in any physical sense at all. Then you'll want to take control of and restructure my integrated conscious thought process which, for anyone who panders to the initial misconception about neurological function, will constitute fixing me."

"Labels have their place. They're for files, though, not for people." Jac's eyes narrow slightly.

"You're suggesting I label myself."

"And you're actively demonstrating that you're capable of cognitive analysis. That's good."

"Am I, not quite as fucked up as my colleagues think, then?" The Psychiatrist considers the comment before neglecting to answer.

"I'm going to recommend a course of Cognitive Behavioural Therapy. I'm happy to treat you personally, if you are?"

"I don't pass the test this time, then?" Her words are bitter.

"You're in shock at the moment, but I don't think those feelings of anxiety are going to go away on their own. I think they're more deeply rooted in your Psyche, and I think you need my help."

**ooooo**

"Well?" Michael Spence accosts Dr Kozinsky as soon as she leaves Jac's room. She sighs, getting the distinct impression that this isn't going to be easy for anyone.

"Jac's perfectly coherent, candid even. I don't believe she's a danger to herself or anybody else. At any rate, she's no longer unresponsive, not in the way that you and your colleague reported."

"So, shock then? She's fine now?" Dr Kozinsky puts her hands on her hips.

"No. Why didn't you get Neuro involved?" Michael produces the head CT.

"I did, I have. They took a look at the scan and there's no apparent damage, not even swelling. Physically, well, she's incredibly lucky." Dr Kozinsky nods, agreeing with his assessment.

"Except that we both know the brain is a more complicated creature than that. I'm recommending a course of treatment; A series of sessions with me. She's agreed." Michael looks confused.

"But you said she's okay. Coherent, no danger." He quotes her words back at her.

"It's not that easy. She knows something's not right in her own head, Mr Spence. Imagine how scary that must be."

"She'll be okay. She's strong."

"I'm not sure. This only just happened, it's still the beginning. We both know things could get worse before they get better. She's distressed, and she's already lied to me about her recollection of the attack."

"What did she say about the baby?" Dr Kozinsky avoids his eye line.

"You know I can't tell you. Try not to bring it up, though, unless she does." Michael nods, understanding.

**ooooo**

Jonny's arm is fed through a circular hole in the plastic cot, stroking his daughters delicate skin, feeling her heartbeat. It keeps going numb, he's been in this position for hours after all, but he has no interest in moving or dealing with anything. Not at the moment. He remembers what Mo had said about shock, about numbness, and he wonders if Jac's whole body feels like the nerve endings in his fingers. He doesn't understand. The overwhelming attachment he feels to this little baby may be clouding his judgement, but he knows he will never understand how a parent could not want to be here, with their child. He doesn't understand how something going on in your own head could even begin to compete with this feeling. Before today, perhaps he would have claimed to understand. He'd claim to understand the theory, at least, and the way that certain emotions can effect a person's ability to cope. That's gone now, though. The rational analyst inside him is lost, because he's a father now. That seems to be all that matters in the world. He'll make her see that too, he vows suddenly. He knows she has the same feelings inside her as he does, and he'll make her come round. He knows her better than anybody, and he knows it'll take persistence, but he's ready for that. He's ready to make sure his daughter has a family.


	3. 3

**Walls.**

**A/N. Hello! More more more.. I'm sorry it's so dark, but I hope you're enjoying reading it. A bit of happiness this time I promise. Thankyou for your interest & feedback X**

**3.**

Days pass without much change between Jac and Jonny. The physical healing of the two patients marks the passing of time whilst other events are stunted, numbed by the impending diagnosis; The possibility of psychological trauma and the refusal by a Mother to meet her newborn child. It's been almost a week since the Psychiatric assessment. An arrest has been made, but the victim is still claiming post traumatic amnesia and refusing to become involved in the investigation. The charges are therefore unlikely to stick. Sharon Kozinsky makes her way up to Holby Care, having informed her PA that she's turning off her pager for the session. She's struck by this case, and she doesn't usually let them in, but she's found herself pondering Jac Naylor in her idle moments. Remembering the woman at work, as well as the anxious victim in the bed. She fears for her troubled patient, and she finds herself unusually susceptible to instinct on the state of Jac's mental health.

Sharon lets herself into Jac's empty room. She can hear movement in the en suite so, boldly as ever, she takes a seat on the side of the bed and waits for her patient. The door to the bathroom swings open almost instantly. Jac spots her, and she's shocked by her presence in the room that's become increasingly private as her condition has improved. She steadies herself against the door frame, one hand across her painful ribs, and she can't get any words out.

"Ms Naylor, I'm sorry, I've caught you by surprise." The psychiatrist speaks quickly, and Jac feels inexplicably suffocated by her words, and her presence. Her throat catches, her grip on her own chest tightens, and she finds herself incapable of taking a deep breath. "Okay, take your time." Sharon speaks carefully, and retreats to the doorway. "Take your time, Jac, just try to breathe." Jac finds herself supported by the door frame she's standing under, one hand pressed up to it and her back prone against the other side. She's dizzy, tachycardic, and has no hope of gaining the control that she knows her doctor would like her to seek.

"Mr Spence?" Sharon calls out into the hallway as she sees the direction that this is going in, and rushes to her patient's side as Jac's legs buckle under her and she's sprawled across the floor.

"What happened?" Michael demands, seemingly unimpressed, as they roll Jac onto her side.

"She fainted. Get her on the bed, quickly." Sharon orders, as Jac starts to regain consciousness. Michael obliges, and her eyes fly open in surprise as she's placed down on her back.

"Naylor are you with me? Any chest pain?" Michael's voice. She wonders if she's regained the power of speech yet, and doesn't have the nerve to risk it. "Jac?" He snaps again and she starts.

"Maybe leave us." Sharon presses onto him. "Stay around, I'll call you if there are any problems. Okay?" He looks into Jac's wild eyes and he knows he has no choice, so he leaves them to it.

"Feeling better?" Sharon asks the question softly after a few minutes of silence. Jac nods. "The nurses have reported that they think you're having nightmares." She barely reacts. "Are you?"

"Yeah."

"About the attack?" Jac looks up, seeks the visual connection between her doctor and herself. Sharon's expression is open, inviting.

"I lied to you before. I do remember."

"I know."

"I'm scared. All the time." It's a weighty admission, and to Jac the atmosphere feels heavy in its wake. She looks up at Dr Kozinsky with pleading eyes. Sharon considers the comment, then decides to take the heat off the moment.

"I did some research for a study at Harvard a few years ago. Big critical acclaim. We found that the rate of PTSD in adults who were in foster care in their teens is double that of combat veterans. Did you know that?"

"I don't subscribe to many Psych journals."

"It made the cover of the BMJ."

"Well, bully for you then."

**ooooo**

"Morning Jonny, how are you?" The Paediatrician greets the nurse with a smile, rubbing him on the shoulder to wake him from his position in the chair and handing him a coffee.

"Hm? What's happening?" He forces himself awake, up, clearly exhausted but constantly on edge for information or changes.

"Relax." She speaks in a whisper. "I'm going to remove the feeding tube this morning. How would you like to hold your daughter?" His reaction is bittersweet. It always is, because every bit of good news or progress is something else that Jac's going to miss. He sighs, and looks up at the doctor.

"Then what? Because, I don't have that covered!" It's supposed to be light hearted, a joke even, but like every other 'Mum' reference it comes out slightly hostile.

"You will." The doctor presses the words on him with her sorrowful eyes. "A nurse will go through everything with you. Jonny, I have liaised with Michael Spence on this. Even if she could be here Jac is on too many painkillers to breastfeed. She still has 4 independent rib fractures." It's the first he's heard about her condition in days, and his eyes snap up as he considers it.

**ooooo**

"Post Traumatic Stress Disorder." Jac voices the phrase dismissively. "It's too soon for you to make that diagnosis."

"Do you think, perhaps, it's possible that the symptoms you're experiencing have simply been exacerbated by the break in? You had a traumatic childhood, and perhaps you've been experiencing the effects of that on your Psyche for years?" She shakes her head, jaw set.

"I'm fine." It's her fallback, and she's never been less convinced of its worth.

"You're fine." Sharon repeats, highlighting the lie.

"I cope, then. I've always coped."

"Always? Can't you identify a time when, perhaps, you haven't been able to cope? A momentary lapse, even. I'm talking about irrational behaviour, plagued by emotion." Jac lets a hint of a smile creep across her face.

"Yeah. Okay. But that just makes me human. Normal." Sharon shrugs.

"Maybe. Tell me about it."

"Joseph Byrne." She starts, carefully. "I could never control my emotions around that man. I pushed him away because I fell in love with him."

"In what way did you feel out of control?"

"Every way." She admits reluctantly. "Overwhelmingly. I found myself fighting for his welfare, and his happiness. I never knew what I was going to do next. Lies, deceit, duplicity. And, really, I'm no good at lying. The strange thing is, this red mist could descend if I thought he was in the slightest danger of being duped by anybody else. Faye." She spits the name. "I wasn't ever concerned about myself, just, so angry with her. When I crashed the bike, I just remember being so angry, and there was nobody to blame except myself. I'm better off without him."

"Like how you're better off without your Mother? Does that sound 'normal' to you?" Jac chews her bottom lip, deep in thought. Sharon searches her expression, pleased with what feels like progress. She ponders her next question, wondering whether or not to bring up the PTSD idea again. There's the first sounds of a commotion coming from outside the room, and Sharon curses the way it punctures their silence. At first Jac doesn't seem too concerned, but the noise moves closer and two voices start to distinguish themselves. She snaps out of her reverie with frightened eyes.

"It's Jonny. I don't want to see him." Her heart is in her throat.

"You take this, and breathe, okay? Just breathe." Sharon hands her an oxygen mask and heads from the room to the source of the disturbance. "What's going on?" The receptionist is trying to placate Jonny. "Mr Maconie, you are compromising the welfare of my patient. Leave now, or I will call security."

"Her daughter needs her! She needs to know that."

"Mr Maconie!" Sharon shouts, which is out of character for her. "Leave. You're hindering Jac's care." Her voice drops to a whisper, and she hears herself divulging confidential information before she can stop it; "She's in there right now having a full blown anxiety attack because she can hear your demands and she is not ready for that. You need to go. Do you understand me?" Jonny's eyes flick beyond the Psychiatrist, and he's silenced. He's hurting, and she immediately regrets her outburst.

"She needs me." He states with certainty, however misguided it might be. He's determined, so it's easy enough for him to dart past the Psychiatrist towards Jac's room. He stops abruptly when he reaches the door and is faced by the scene he can see through the window. The bed is empty and she has retreated to the far corner of the room, sitting against the wall with her knees drawn to her chest. Her eyes are clamped shut and she's concentrating furiously on trying to level her breathing. To see how hard she's fighting tears him apart a little. He presses his fingers lightly against the glass, much like he had against the cot when the baby first arrived and she was locked away from him in a similar vein. He feels a hand touch lightly against the small of his back.

"It's a shock." Dr Kozinsky speaks softly, close to his ear.

"It's going to take time, isn't it?" He asks, the rational part of him coming to the surface, seeing a patient in need of professional help.

**ooooo**

"You look glum." Jonny looks up at the voice, and manages to greet Sacha Levy with a smile. He's standing in the middle of the room with his baby in his arms, having difficulty getting her to respond to the idea of a bottle. He has more formula down his t-shirt than anywhere else.

"Yeah, well, it's a glum kind of situation." Sacha isn't happy with that answer. He can't quite get around the idea that Jonny isn't enjoying this bonding moment so he moves closer, peering at the inquisitive little face in the blanket.

"Hello you. Oh, of course you're gorgeous, why doesn't that surprise me?" Jonny grins in spite of himself.

"Jac's eyes, right?"

"Definitely." Sacha agrees, and snatches a glance at Jonny. "So do you have a name yet, little one?" He asks the question innocently enough, and Jonny sighs.

"I really want to wait for Jac. I want her to have a part in all of this." Sacha smiles sadly, and they both take a seat in the plastic chairs that Jonny's convinced he's become moulded to lately. "But, I'm not sure when that's going to happen now."

"How is she?" It's real, raw concern across his features.

"Not too great." Jonny answers candidly, the 'if' entering his head to replace the 'when'.

"She'll come round." Sacha reads him easily. "You're her whole world now, she'll come through for you both. Little known fact; Jac Naylor is the most fiercely loyal person I've ever met. She won't stop fighting for you."

"I hope you're right." He stills and stops gently rocking the child in his arms.

"Fighting her demons, hey?" Sacha continues musing. "Poor Jac." They're both quiet for a few moments, heart strings aching for a woman trapped in a personal hell, and then there's a gurgle from Jonny's arms. They both turn their attention to the culprit, who's parting her lips and reaching out of the blanket with a tiny little arm. "Hey," Sacha whispers, "look, she wants the bottle." Gently he guides Jonny's wrist into the right position, and they both grin like children as the baby latches on willingly and starts to suckle.

"I was thinking," Jonny speaks after a while, "Rebecca." Sacha smiles.

"Gorgeous. It suits her. Hey, same as my middle one!" He weighs in with all the right noises.

"And, you know, that still leaves options. Rebecca, Becky, Becca, Becs." Sacha nods, understanding.

"She'll be making a face at them all in no time." He pats the new Dad on the back, excusing himself and silently praying that he's right.

**ooooo**

"Okay?" Sharon Kozinsky is sitting on the floor next to Jac. Her back is against the wall, mirroring the other woman's position. They both stare straight ahead.

"Yeah."

"I think we'll leave it there today." She holds out a hand as she stands, offering to help Jac up. She ignores it and struggles to her feet by herself, making her way tenderly back over to the bed. "Do you want me to see if Spence will up your pain relief?" She shakes her head.

"It's fine I can handle it."

"Okay. Jac, I want you to think about what we've discussed. I know it's painful but I think it's important. Think about your relationships, and,"

"I know." She butts in. "Patterns, recurrences, emotions. Identify the issue. I will."

"Good. Thank you, I'll see you next week." She turns to leave, and as she reaches the door adds; "Try to leave the room if you feel up to it. Go for a walk?" Jac nods, smiles even.


	4. 4

**Walls.**

**A/N. Hi! Sorry it's been a few days, I've been away with work sans laptop, & actually wanted to leave a few days before I proofed because, yet again, s'a heavy one. I'm sorry! & thankyou guys for sticking with it, it's inspiring some really fun novel writing. As ever thankyou for the reviews they're really appreciated. x Sarah**

**4.**

Jac Naylor doesn't like failing. At the moment her life contains very few things, none of which are particularly appealing to concentrate on for very long. So, to her, failing the task that was flippantly suggested by her psychiatrist last week is not an option. For the first couple of days the thought of stepping beyond the ominous door to her room is enough to make her heart flutter in protest. She works on that, though, because she knows how irrational it is and she has to believe in her own strength to overcome things. The day before her next appointment with Sharon arrives, and she realises she'll have to force herself to be ready.

Jonny is in a sort of limbo. Rebecca will be discharged from Paeds any day now. She's strong and happy and well looked after and he's found his own time on the ward has left him with too many hours alone with his thoughts. He's still sleeping in the chair and showering in the doctor's on call room, but he's taken a few shifts over the course of the week to occupy himself, claiming martyrdom to the understaffed ward. This afternoon he's grabbed a pharmacy run from one of the junior nurses in order to nip in to see Rebecca, and is down on the 3rd floor when he turns a corner and finds himself face to face with Jac. She gasps at his sudden presence but doesn't reel away too much, and they stare each other down quietly for a few moments. She's in a staff hoody that dwarfs her, he suspects it's Spence's, over her gown and trainers. Her hair is more unkempt than normal, a little frazzled at the ends, it looks softer and it suits her. She looks like a patient, though, which still pains him. The visible stitches on her right temple are especially hard to take in, alongside the yellowing bruises.

"Hey." She speaks first, and he's glad. "You're working?" It's not a slight, it's genuine and inquisitive.

"A couple of shifts." He confirms carefully. "Where are you heading?" She considers it for a few moments and eventually shrugs.

"Anywhere."

"Walk together?" He keeps his distance a little as he suggests it, but she nods fairly willingly, and he falls in with her slower step. They walk side by side but she leaves a clear foot between them and to him it feels like an ocean.

Jac's head is spinning at the curve ball she's been thrown. She knows it shouldn't and she finds herself putting all of her energy in to acting as if she's fine. In her head she counts to ten, over and over, and tries to slow her whirring heart.

"Rebecca might come home with me tomorrow." He blurts it out after a minute or so of silence, and initially she's confused, is he telling her about a potential hook up? Then she realises what he means and she thinks she might stop breathing. Her right hand claws for the wall and she slows, dizzy but staying in control for the moment.

"Don't. Don't push it." She manages breathlessly. He's searching her expression with a frantic look in his eyes and it suffocates her. Rebecca. Rebecca. She feels the word repeating itself silently on her lips so she makes a conscious effort to fix them closed. Jonny's still watching her, and she realises they've come to a standstill outside Keller ward, her back against the wall.

"Are you okay?" His words are far away, and she knows she can't answer him because nothing will come out if she tries.

Jac's eyes scare Jonny. She looks untamed, like she's somewhere between planning her escape and not being capable of cognitive thought. They're in a silent catch 22 for a moment before the doors to Keller fly open with gusto. Jac physically jumps in shock and it doesn't escape him. Malick bursts from the ward in a rage, almost growling in frustration over something that's likely to be trivial.

"Oh, come on! Do you never learn?" Spence's booming voice follows the registrar, and both he and Chantelle Lane follow the steaming doctor.

"Mr Malick, calm down!" The girl starts, but Jonny is dragged away from the scene as Jac emits a stunted shriek of horror. He leaps towards her instinctively, his arm snaking around her shoulders to protect her from the harmless commotion.

"Hey, it's okay." She screams again, and he could kick himself, then she shoves him in the chest and he stumbles back, winded. Four sets of eyes are on her now and she panics, knocking over a nearby trolley with a crash, then scrambling back up with a pair of surgical scissors in hand. Her back slumps flat against the wall and she's unsteady on her feet. Jonny can't take his eyes off the scissors, which she turns over and over, fumbling with them, her hands shaking violently. Her eyes are still wild. "Jac, please." He doesn't know where he's going with the words, so he stops. She shakes even more if that's possible, and then he sees a fresh stream of blood across her wrist, which spreads quickly from the movement and drips, pools on the floor below her. He panics.

Michael Spence grabs Chantelle's forearm to get the girl's attention. She looks like a rabbit in headlights. He whispers sternly in her ear. "Hey, you go draw up 8 milligrams of Midazolam, and you bleep Dr Kozinsky right now. Go." Chantelle heads stiffly off to do as she's been asked, shooting a fleeting glance of horror over her shoulder.

Jac is in a nightmare. The spectators swim in front of her, faceless sets of eyes, multiplying subconsciously, creating a circle around her that closes in. She can't seem to keep a grip on her weapon and it tumbles over her hands. Her palms feel sticky, then wet, and the wetness drips between her fingers, increasing the struggle to keep hold of the scissors. One of the bodies steps forward, closes right in on her so she can't breathe, can't think, holds her arms down. She prays for darkness but the Universe isn't that kind. It's Jonny; She realises that in a flash. His face is close to hers and he looks like a stuck pig. She looks down and sees her hands, his scrubs, a big red mess, and then she looks back into his eyes. She feels an awful kind of chill and then he's gone again, back into the faceless threatening crowd. She wants to scream, she wants her lungs to burst, she wants something to happen above the thunder of her blood pumping in her ears. All she has left is fight.

"Leave it, Maconie!" Clearly Jac is becoming increasingly distressed, and Michael snaps urgently at the nurse, concerned by the growing red puddle on the floor. To his surprise Jonny springs backwards on demand and the scissors clatter to the floor. Michael makes a move whilst he can, swooping in on Jac and forcing her a few feet away from the toppled trolley. Jac is tense, riddled with terror, and her limbs fly out in protest as he tries to still her. She beats his chest, and he closes his eyes for a moment, tormented by the look on her face. Her scream makes them fly open again and he balks, out of his depth and relieved to feel Chantelle on his left. "I'm sorry Jac." He starts, "I'm sorry. Damn it, you're gonna hurt yourself, I'm sorry." Malick appears on his right, and the pair of them manage to hold her against the floor steadily enough to inject the sedative. She doesn't stop crying out until her eyelids droop shut, and Michael thinks he might be sick. "Chantelle," he speaks quietly, "pack the cut on her arm. Get her back to Holby Care, I'll stitch it there. I want her on IV fluids too." His silk suit is splattered with Jac's blood, and he's struck by how much that shocks him as he turns away. He meets Jonny's gaze; The nurse is clearly knocked for six. He's pale, his hand on his stomach as if he might throw up too, and Michael starts to speak but Jonny turns away and heads back towards Darwin with haste. Dr Kozinsky trips into the scene, her expression telling him she got here as soon as she could.

Jonny has tears in his eyes as he turns away from the horrible scene. He hates that he feels so responsible, and he hates that he feels so out of control. He keeps his right hand plugged against his stomach, concealing the wound that Jac managed to infringe upon him during their brief struggle. He's sheepish as he arrives back on Darwin, the pain beginning to kick in a bit, and he makes a bee-line for the storage cupboard to grab a suture kit. Mo crashes in behind him.

"Got that prescription? You've been ages, how's Bubba Becca?" Jonny turns to face her, and she spots his pallor immediately. "What's happened?"

"I might need your help." He hisses as he speaks, hands her the suture kit and lets her follow in his wake as he heads to the empty treatment room.

"Jonny!" She demands, eyes wide as he sits down with a grimace.

"Accident." He tries, and lifts up his scrub top to show her an inch long cut, deep but superficial, just below his belly button.

"What happened?" She stresses it more forcefully, still concerned but getting angrier. He presses his lips closed, disguised by another wince of pain. She twists his legs up onto the bed, forcing him to lie back. "Well it's clean, and sharp. Scalpel?" She's gazing at him analytically, not enjoying his evasive manner. "I'll get an accident report form, shall I?"

"Jac." Her name spills off his lips before he can think better of it. "You can't tell anybody, it really was an accident." Clearly Mo's surprised, her eyebrows shoot skywards.

"Jac stabbed you?!" He curses his best friend for being so bloody hysterical in a crisis.

"She didn't mean to, it was my own stupid fault. Nobody needs to know." She almost laughs, exasperated.

"Of course they do. If you know anything about helping someone in her situation.."

"I scared her and she panicked." Jonny snaps. "She slashed herself, by mistake I think. That's why I stepped in and tried to get the scissors off her. She didn't mean to cut me, it was just a stupid accident. She's still in there, Mo." His friend doesn't look convinced. "I mean it. Her eyes, when she realised she'd hurt me. Sure she was scared, but she was sorry as well. The real Jac was in there, behind those eyes. I need to help her." He's aware that he's about to cry.

"I'm not sure you can. Jonny, you have Rebecca to think about, you have this place. You're drained already, and, are you even the right person..?"

"I'm taking a sabbatical." He whispers carefully. "Michael Spence had to manually restrain her, Mo, in the middle of the bloody corridor. She had to be sedated because she wouldn't stop fighting. Her screams, god, nobody should scream like that. Nobody should have to feel that frightened." The lump crawls up his throat and he splutters, letting his friend pull him into her chest and sobbing unreservedly. "I just want to make it better. I want her to be okay."

**ooooo**

Michael Spence ambles slowly along the quiet corridor. He's changed into scrubs, having almost thrown his suit straight in the bin instead of bundling it into a bag for his housekeeper to deal with later. He feels drained; Keeping it together to stitch Jac's wound had been a struggle. He reaches Dr Kozinsky, who's leaning against the wall deep in thought, her eyes on her shoes. He positions himself next to her, feeling her palpable investment in the case, their arms brushing together slightly. He's surprised to hear her sniff as she looks up at him.

"I totally underestimated the extent of her psychosis." Sharon dispenses with the greeting as she sees she's speaking to Michael. He nods carefully.

"Don't beat yourself up. None of us saw that coming."

"When the chemicals shift around in the brain, and a person loses the ability to rationalize.. There are signs. I should have seen the signs for what they were, it's my job."

"It's your job to predict something that modern medicine doesn't even really understand? It's not just about dopamine, is it. It's more complicated than that. You know, when I was stitching her arm, I couldn't help wondering if she's had this low level thing the whole time I've known her."

"And it's scary, to think that somebody's whole adult life could be governed by the fear of losing control, the fight to get it in the first place."

"Which, quite ironically, is an isolating and unsustainable state of mind. Control's funny like that though, hey; You only really lose it when you concentrate too hard on having it. But then ultimately, isn't that what it's all about, this thing called life? I mean, that's what everything always comes down to." He frowns as he talks himself around in a circle. Perhaps everybody is just one wrong decision away from the frightening dystopia that's ensconced Jac since the attack.

"Who knows." She sighs, spitting the words out bitterly. "Don't think too much." She adds, her hand slipping over his to signify the importance of her words. "If there's one thing I'm sure of in this world it's; Don't think too much." She gives his hand a quick pat before pushing away from the wall, removing herself from the situation and wondering how to go about following her own advice.

**ooooo**

"Ah!" Jonny lets out an involuntary yelp of pain as Mo starts stitching.

"If you want secrecy then I can hardly sign out a local, can I?" She speaks grimly. "You're lucky." She's examined the wound to confirm it is just superficial.

"That's the beer gut." He tries to make her smile. "So I have you to thank, really."

"This isn't funny." She snaps at him.

"I know." She stops for a moment and looks at him.

"What are you going to do? It's just that, I'm worried about you."

"Well I'm not the one who needs your concern, I'm not the one who's falling apart in case you hadn't noticed." Mo puts her hands on his shoulders and demands his full attention.

"I know you're not. And it's crappy and horrible and I can't imagine what Jac's going through right now, but she already has support. Proper professional help, and I'm telling you Michael Spence will make sure she gets the best. And yes, you're coping, but you've lost out too here and I'm your friend and I'm here to help, support and advise you. Got it?" She's silenced him, which she takes to be a good thing. Personally she'd rather they didn't have to talk about it at all, because every night when she shuts her eyes she sees her pregnant colleague, bruised and bloody, sprawled across the floor of her flat. Then she has to remember there are people that evil out there somewhere. The truth is, everybody's hurting. "When did you last sleep?" She asks quietly, but they're interrupted by Elliot as he appears in the room without knocking.

"Ah, sorry, I heard you were both in here." Jonny leaps to his feet, pulling his scrub top back down and ignoring the twinge, whilst Mo snaps the gloves off hastily and conceals everything behind her back. They're hopelessly unsubtle but Elliot is too distracted to notice that anything's awry. He's fumbling with a piece of paper that he proceeds to hand over to Jonny, seemingly unable to take his eyes off his shoes. It's an accident report form. "Dr Kozinsky has asked for full reports on the, er, incident that happened downstairs from everybody involved. I'm sorry to have to ask you; She's compiling information for Jac's referral. I'm sorry." He repeats his apology, eyes full of regret.

"What referral?"

"They're transferring her into Psychiatric Care tomorrow. She's being sectioned." Jonny sits back down, hard, on the bed. He's speechless. The largest, and apparently most foolish, part of him had been assuming that she'd be discharged and then everything would start to get back to normal. He hadn't thought it through that extensively, but he'd envisaged a time when she wouldn't be able to stay away from him and the baby anymore so she'd have to accept it and everything would be okay.

"They're taking her away from me?" His voice is small. He realises he's an idiot for not seeing this coming, but it doesn't make it any less of a shock.

It feels like the fight is over.


	5. 5

**Walls.**

**A/N. Hello! Here's part 5, slightly shorter. Perhaps a necessary filler of sorts - & p.s. amazing readers & reviewers & followers, thankyou all. x Sarah**

**5.**

It takes seconds to end a life. A snap of the fingers can alter the plains of an existence forever, and you don't get a do over. The news filters through the whole hospital by the close of play. Some see it in writing through one of the official channels. Some overhear it as a snatch of gossip as they go about their day. Some find themselves sipping tea, nibbling digestives and dissecting it over a magazine with friends. It's absorbed with varying levels of concern and shock, some knew her and some didn't, but they all, unanimously, knew of her. She had a big reputation. Everybody will remember the day they heard the news and the fact that it surprises them and makes them pause, if only for a second, to consider the inside of their own head. This is the aftershock.

Jac Naylor may not be dead, but it certainly feels like she is.

**ooooo**

Sharon huffs to herself as she shuts the file. She feels frustrated. There's a knot in her stomach that she can't undo and she curses herself for getting so emotionally invested in this. She feels a long way from her A game, and starts to untie the details of the case in her mind, over thinking and overanalysing every menial exchange she ever had with Jac Naylor. She tries to kick herself out of the funk and checks her watch, quickly calculates the time difference, and picks up the phone to call and old friend. They stumble through the niceties with the softening kind of familiarity that reminds you of home and falsifies a brief sense of innocence. Alec Miller knows Sharon well enough, however, to question her facade demand the full story within the first five minutes of their conversation.

"It's just so acute. So sudden." She's surprised by how pained she sounds.

"PTSD can be that way. Rapid deterioration that's hard to control. Initially it's the closing off, but, maintaining a front that enables a patient to cover for themselves, hide the anxiety. Usually that stems from a period of having no choice but to cope. It's rare to see it manifest itself so severely; I guess that's why it's so widely underestimated. That episode you described; That's not something you can predict, you know?"

"War zone, foster home. What's the difference, hey?"

"You sound upset."

"You're damn right I'm upset. She was a colleague. I spent time with her. I had to write the referral."

"Reason that is free from passion because it has to be. It's hard, you're just reacting, it sounds like you did the right thing."

"Then why can't I switch off?" Alec has no answer to that one, so they sit in a very expensive yet comforting silence for a few minutes. Sharon is grateful to her friend for the support, but through the quiet contemplation she realises she'll never forgive herself for the events of the last fortnight. She knows there are cut and dry actions she could have taken; Differently, earlier, more carefully. Any of these could have led to a more desirable outcome than a senior colleague being removed from the premises in a public shaming that she's likely to find confusing and stressful in the height of her anxiety. Sharon sighs audibly.

"Go get some sleep." The voice on the other end of the phone commands. "I guess you have a big day tomorrow."

"Not as big as some." She sighs again before signing off.

**ooooo**

Jonny is concentrating very hard on thinking about their glory days. Long before they hurt one another and grew so far apart. Before the pregnancy brought them into a complicated platonic tangle. He remembers her volatile molotov kisses and the mischievous look on her face when they snatch moments together in the store cupboard. Rebecca has fallen asleep in his arms; She's silent and completely settled, snuggling close to his beating heart. It reminds him of the warmth of Jac's body against his. He remembers pushing her up against the wall in the supply cupboard, time after time. Once or twice he didn't even get her top off, and she looks so ridiculous with it rucked up to her collarbone with her bra where his hands have pushed it to explore every inch of her milky skin. He loves her raw animal gasps in his ear, the flush and glowing sheen that creeps over her body as he works it expertly. Then she arches her back involuntarily and looks at the ceiling for just a moment, cries as loudly as she dares then succumbs to him with a quiver. They'll share a look, no barriers and no pretence, just utter pleasure in their exquisite connection. He'll keep her pinned there to support her jellied limbs for a moment longer, delighting in the knowledge that she'd crumple into a post coital puddle at his feet if he let her go. Then they'll sink to the floor together and lap each other's salty skin until the panting subsides and they can return to the ward, heads held high.

Elliot pads around Darwin half heartedly in the wake of the news. He can't seem to carry out the simplest of tasks without his mind wandering to his colleague and forgetting what he'd been walking where for. "Can't seem to stop.. thinking about it all." He announces distractedly to nobody in particular, attracting the attention of Dr Valentine.

"She said something to me once." Ollie pauses, tapping his pen on the desk a couple of times as he considers it. "Something that I dismissed as, just, Jac Naylor being Jac Naylor. It always stuck with me though; One of those things you hear when you're training that'll always be in the back of your mind." He smiles at the memory, especially how he'd jumped her bones shortly after the exchange and she'd let him. "I'd been bugging her all day, and in the locker room after surgery I asked why she became a doctor. Sort of demanded it. She said; Because other people are easier to fix. And I really think she meant it. More than anything else she ever said to me."

**ooooo**

Serena thinks about it in the lift. With a lifetime full of packed schedules it's always been the key to her solace; Finding oneself alone in a lift. She thinks about the strong fiery woman who she accosted at the coffee bar when she'd just started the job and was on a rampant charm offensive. Outwardly Jac had been a clear cut professional with no interest in niceties or time wasting and an incredible talent for deflecting unwanted opinions or slights. Serena had been impressed from the off, not just at the woman's strength but also at how her frankness could only be a pleasure to work with, from a business management perspective of course. She'd been even more impressed when she heard Hanssen's sly snide remarks about Ms Naylor, secretly thinking it wonderful that the CT Consultant had clearly managed to get under the man's skin and undermine his authority. What fun. Serena sighs and leans sadly against the side of the lift, knowing that great mind to be crushed now, perhaps irreversibly. The lift draws to a halt and the doors slide open, quashing her reverie. She stalks out onto the ward and vows to do something useful; A show of support somehow for a valued colleague.

Michael Spence bashes his fist against his desk in frustration, half expecting it to crash to the floor under his brute force. He's been hiding, brooding in his office all afternoon. Now the sun's setting to mark the closing of the day and, inwardly, he's achieved nothing at all. To his surprise he's angry with Jac for falling at the last hurdle. It's a pattern with her, he's seen it over the years. She has intelligence and promise and, hell, street smarts, but she's always been her own worst enemy. He remembers her as the people skills lacking Registrar he'd nurtured at arm's length, and ponders his earlier epiphany that she's always been slightly off kilter. He knows her, by the secrets of her past, better than anybody else perhaps ever has. Maybe it's why, deep down, he feels so responsible for her breakdown. He has always considered himself good at dealing with the pastoral care of his staff. On more than one occasion he's played sole Judge and Juror without the assistance of any official channels, a firm believer in second chances and teamwork and the value of a lesson learnt. Now those methods are all up in the air. What would have happened if he'd reported his Registrar for treating her own Mother? A slap on the wrists, perhaps, and a breakdown in tears in front of the CEO instead of behind closed doors. Maybe he could have goaded her into a few therapy sessions back then. Suddenly it seems today's events were all potentially avoidable and he's angrier than he was when he first stalked into his office for some peace.

Henrik Hanssen feels uneasy as he gets to the last folder of paperwork that crosses his desk this evening. He knows what it is. He purposefully placed it here, at the very bottom of the pile, prioritising a menial syringe contract decision over it. He's rational enough to know that he'd get to it eventually, he was just hoping he'd be too tired to feel as emotional about it as he had earlier in the day. He doesn't like to feel emotional. He rolls his line of pens across the desk and then replaces them as they were, repeating the action a few times before finally snapping up the file and opening it. Sharon Kozinsky has provided him with a copy of the full signed off referral to accompany the letter of recommended professional and political action steps from the CEO, supported by the Board. In short, it's a file of bureaucracy in its coldest most clinical form. Jac Naylor took a lot of pleasure in likening herself to her, 'great leader,' and had even been so bold as to do so in his presence on more than one occasion. He'd been unspeakably irritated by it all, particularly as she'd read any affection or bias he ever showed like a book, and had the power to make him snap with no more than a raised eyebrow. It's the same power that he uses as a personal fallback when dealing with his staff, relishing his own private jokes with himself and clinging to his superiority stick for fear of drowning. He frowns. He hasn't been to see Ms Naylor since she was admitted, and he only now realises the true root of his fears.

Serena barrels into the Director of Surgery's office and Henrik's breath catches in his throat as she does so. He pounds his palm against the desk in a burst of rage that, for once, makes her stand to attention. "Knock!" He barks at her, and she looks mightily pissed off for a minute, before it becomes abundantly clear that she's caught him during a moment of weakness. She peers at him curiously. His eyes are hot and reddening, which he knows she's snapped up immediately, and he can't quite bring himself to demand that she leaves. She closes the door with a click and pads quietly over to sit opposite him, her expression deadpan.

"Mr Hanssen. Are you crying?" He puts the file he's holding down on the desk, referral at the top, and pats it twice in quick succession.

"Is that me?" He asks the question curtly, as if querying a perfunctory middle management matter. She looks down at the file with a complex expression.

"No." She confirms. "That's Jac Naylor."

"That's not what I meant." He sounds scornful now, slipping back behind those notorious walls.

"I know what you meant." She's candid. Easy to read, for once, and she knows it. She understands the questions that are niggling at all but the most self assured of the Hospital's high achievers today. He nods his acceptance of her remark and, respectfully, she continues with the matter she'd come to see him about. "I've bulldozed a few rules this afternoon, I just popped up to keep you in the loop."

"Ah, the tenuous tightrope walk between coercion and negligence no doubt? How good of you to keep me incriminated along the way." She shoots him her best withering stare.

"I convinced the Police to relinquish the key to Jac's flat; They've stuck a temporary lock on it. The thing is, it really was in a complete state when I popped over there this evening. The carpet is going to need more than a quick shampoo and the forensic team have made a dreadful mess considering they couldn't find anything better than circumstantial. So, I've booked a professional cleaning team to give it the works over the next few days; Given the reports I've heard from the nursing staff I don't imagine she'll be capable of returning to it otherwise, whenever that may be. It's gone on one of the accounts," She fumbles in her briefcase and pulls out a printed statement, "Ah, here. Just a little anomaly to be aware of when pulling the wool over the eyes of certain Board Members."

"Despicable." Hanssen concludes with no conviction whatsoever.

"So it's fine, then?" Serena pushes, suggesting no other answer would be an option anyway.

"Yes, Ms Campbell. It's fine." The corners of his mouth twitch up a little. Nobody has nobody in this place.


	6. 6

**Walls.**

**A/N. Thankyou for your support guys it means a lot, I love reading your feedback. x This is a bit of a biggun & quite heavy, but hang in there we're almost done I promise! Hope it's not too much in one part!**

**6.**

Jac is alone again in her private room. Her knees are drawn up to her chest and she has a window of solitude; Safety. She laughed when Sharon first told her what they were going to do next; It's something that happens to patients, not CT Consultants. She'd been confused, memories of the last 24 hours overlapping each other and muddling themselves. Reality and fantasy twisting around unfathomably in her head. But now it's sunk in, perhaps, because she knows she's out of options. She's been trapped under a glass and all there's left to do is to come quietly. She aches, not just at the sites of her injuries but all over. Her muscles don't seem to want to stop trembling and it's both exhausting and frustrating in equal measure. It takes the medic inside her far too long to make the connection that the tremors are just an aftershock of the intra muscular Midazolam. She wonders if that means her brain is shutting down, or turning off, or whatever you'd call it. Not so long ago she thrived on making connections, analysing and diagnosing, yet she can't even remember what that feels like now. It's as if the electrical pulses inside her skull are burning out, severing one by one.

She sighs and shifts a little on the bed, then pushes the two little Valium pills around the bedside table, fingering them gently. These two harmless little pills signify the beginning of the unknown; The abyss. She throws them back in the spur of the moment, taking advantage of a brief spell of gutsiness, and takes a swig of water from the plastic cup before her. It's like ice running down her throat and it makes her shiver. The fight is over and this is acceptance. She makes eyes at Sharon, who's watching intently from the other side of the door. She enters the room quietly.

"Ready?"

"I guess so."

"There's an ambulance waiting downstairs." Jac looks frightened, but she's trying to hide it well. "I'll walk with you." She obliges and they make their way downstairs in silence. Sharon carries a bag of her personal effects that she'd personally fetched from the flat after acquiring the key from Serena Campbell. She eyes Jac carefully, every few moments as they head to the car park. She seems to be keeping up a steely reserve and Sharon hopes the journey to the unit will be smooth. Jac comes to an abrupt standstill as they turn a corner outside. They're faced with a bluster of fresh air and the vehicle she's supposed to climb into. "Are you comfortable with this?" Sharon checks almost sternly, desperate for this to go down with cooperation.

"I need treatment. It's got to be better than not knowing what I'll do next, hasn't it." The psychiatrist looks at the floor, unable to promise that and uncharacteristically unwilling to give Jac the benefit of a fallacy. Her sympathy cries out for the woman standing in front of her, but she clasps her hands together to stop herself reaching out to grab Jac's. Somehow her fear of being touched makes her look even more fragile as she stands dwarfed and washed out in baggy black attire.

"You are so brave." She blurts out suddenly, sounding more like a concerned friend than a doctor.

"If, um," Jac's voice wavers as she continues. "What if I panic? In the ambulance?" Sharon takes a deep breath.

"You know they'll do everything they can to avoid sedating you further, until you reach the unit." Jac nods. She knows the theory of course, and how the risks are weighed up against one another. Danger of harming oneself or others versus the possibility of respiratory depression that increases with repeated doses of Midazolam. Nobody wants a life at risk on the ring road so clinically it makes perfect sense. Emotionally, Jac's not so sure anymore. Emotionally, there's nothing she understands anymore.

"So they'll restrain me," her voice is small but matter of fact, "if I can't stay calm."

"Do you want me to come?" Sharon speaks instinctively again, bulldozing protocol. She feels increasingly protective of her patient, especially as the rubber-necking nursing staff start to arrive for the shift change.

"Yes." Jac's reply is instant, then she considers herself for a minute. "I don't know why I trust you. God, will nothing make sense inside my head?"

"It's fine it doesn't matter. Come on, let's get in together." Sharon nods towards the district ambulance and Jac steels herself for determined cooperation. She steps up into the vehicle as stoic as is possible with sore ribs and bile rising like a blockage in her throat. She sees the specially equipped high backed chair come trolley that she's supposed to sit in, with the extensive network of restraining seat belts that are currently tucked away out of use. Restraints that would be invisible to all but trained eyes. Somebody screams and she feels sickeningly dizzy as she swings around in a panic to see who it was. There's a crowd closing in on her again, faceless black shadows restricting her ability to struggle or even breathe. So sudden this time. The dystopia washes over her, drowns her, and there's no way out.

Sharon Kozinsky is biting back a lump in her throat as the first attempts to placate her patient are proved futile. She has an incredible set of lungs, and Sharon tries her best to protect the scene from onlookers with her own body as Jac tries to scramble from the ambulance with shrieks and punches. The team from the PIC Unit are taken aback, although versed in this kind of occurrence, and after a few moments they flip into the last resort chain of action as a well oiled team. They will restrain her. They will calm her down with drugs. And it's something she might just have to get used to. Sharon climbs in behind Jac after she's strapped into the belts she's so frightened of; It's painfully ironic really.

"You coming?" The driver asks, surprised apparently.

"Yes." Sharon replies, able to keep that promise at least.

**ooooo**

Jac becomes slowly aware of unfamiliar surroundings. She wriggles a little, confused as to whether she's just regained consciousness or was awake all along. It's an unpleasant feeling, like there are a hundred vivid dreams just out of reach. Her limbs feel light and her chest feels heavy all at once.

"Ms Naylor, are you with me?" The voice is soft and unthreatening, but she doesn't recognise it. "Do you know where you are? Jac?" She looks around a room that is similar to a GP's office, and finds herself propped up on a solid bed as if she's waiting for a regular consult.

"Psychiatric Unit." She whispers, wavering at the sound of her own voice.

"Good. My name's Vanessa Halt and I'm your new Consultant. I've spoken at length with Dr Kozinsky about your case."

"Is she still here?" Jac blurts it out before thinking, she's finding it difficult and frustrating to absorb what's happening around her, as if she's cut off from the world somehow.

"I'm sorry, no." Her chest feels tight and the doctor's office is too bright; Light seems to be reflecting off everything so quickly that she can't keep up with it. She frowns, wondering what makes her need to keep up with it, then drops the idea of a connection hopelessly as her chest starts to hurt.

"Jac? You look a little distressed. What's the problem?" She opens her mouth and almost confesses her concerns about the reflections before stopping herself, horrified that the delusional words almost tripped off her tongue. She's embarrassed to have even considered it.

"Nothing."

"Okay. You'll be shown to your room this afternoon, and I think we'll leave you some time to settle in. You'll be under observation so just ask a Nurse if you have any questions, or you'd like to see me again today. You're on a low level IV sedative at the moment. You'll feel increasingly alert through the afternoon as it wears off, and I'd like to keep you on the saline drip for now."

Jac looks down at her right arm, flooded with confusion and curiosity all at once. Her forearm is bound and sealed, far more tightly and securely than you could imagine it would be in a hospital, with the drip protruding at an inhumane angle from the middle of the dressing. The crook of her arm is mottled with new marks; A precise red blot from a mysterious injection and a dappling of bruises that all look like fingerprints. It slowly dawns on her that, whilst mentally elsewhere, she's been pulled back, held down, moved around, punctured and assessed without consent or concern for her opinion on the matter. She feels a bit sick, a bit struck by whole new realms of violation that she hadn't been prepared for. She should cry and she wonders why she isn't.

"Jac?"

"Yes." She tries to concentrate but her heart is still fluttering in her chest. She silently begs it to go back to normal, and to let her stay lucid.

"Okay, we'll walk to your room together. You'll need some time alone I think."

**ooooo**

There's a week and a half long gap, after that first exchange, that Jac will never truly remember with any great certainty. The next thing she's aware of is an acute sense of the passing of time, and a desperation to re-grasp a platform of existence. The waters flatten and retreat, she surveys the wreckage and feels overwhelmed by the task of putting it all back together again. Memories surface from afar and strike her one by one, that isn't pleasant, until she begins to understand the full scope of her condition. She gathers information about the events of her first week in the Unit from a variety of sources, where her own recollection is warped. She faces a painful struggle to an admission of weakness, and she is a different person, really, by the time she accepts what will happen next.

They say she's been taking some of the meds orally over the last few days, and eating too. It accounts for the sweet sickly taste stuck in the back of her throat perhaps, like when a coated pill starts to dissolve on your tongue. They say all of this like it's a good thing, but Jac can't understand that. She doesn't remember swallowing any pills so the knowledge of having done so feels false and contrived, like a nightmare in the cold morning light. Vanessa talks a lot about the past week and a half. She's very big on the idea of memories, and reflection, and trudging back over things repeatedly. It's not a concept Jac's ever had much time for. She answers the questions when she has to, and tries to steel herself against becoming irritated or, worse, agitated by their conversations. It doesn't usually last for long.

They do this dance for two whole days, and Jac becomes increasingly frustrated with herself as she slowly regains perspective. She realises how many drugs she's on, and the medic inside her is frightened they're the only key to her grip on reality. She becomes obsessive about taking them and antsy if they're a few minutes late. She surveys the side effects with fascination, for want of any other emotion attached to the state of her own body. She has a seizure, and another, and that's a setback because it's a terrifying loss of control and the meds are supposed to put you back in control, aren't they? Vanessa changes the cocktail a little, explaining it all along the way and coaxing her patient towards having faith in the chosen pathway to recovery. Because really, there's no other option. The drugs are her crutch now, and that's another problem for another day, when for now she just needs to trust that.

For a full two weeks following her admission there's something niggling at the back of Jac's mind. Something that feels like it could have been a dream or a hallucination, but she has a sense that it's significant. Eventually it's Vanessa who unlocks the secret, and the reveal sends a chill like an electric shock down Jac's spine; "Do you remember your suicide attempt?"

"No. What? No, I didn't, I wouldn't."

"Shortly after you were first admitted, Jac."

"No. I know myself, no. I didn't." She's accepted a lot of undesirable, unattractive facts about herself over the last few weeks, but she can't accept this.

"You weren't yourself, though, and that's why you've pushed the memory away. You weren't acting rationally. You were in distress and your mind wasn't capable of trying to take control of the situation. You were panicking, and looking for an escape, and unable to comprehend the consequences of that escape. Do you understand?" She's mute. "Do you understand what's under the bandages?" Jac's eyes flick to her wrists, which are sealed with fresh, tightly wound impenetrable wraps. She's muddled for a minute. She's watched the Nurses change the dressings every day; It's part of the paramount routine that comes just before the second round of medication each afternoon. She's concentrated so hard on associating them with that, and she's failed to realise the wrists were her own? How could that be? She feels sick, for she knows what's beneath the layers of gauze. She's peered at the messy lacerations with curiosity every day. She feels stupid, embarrassed, confused. She places her head in her hands and shuts her eyes tightly. She tries to concentrate on making connections. She gets a flicker of something stirring in her gut; A snapshot of memory. She's staring up at familiar faces and a hospital ceiling. There's urgency in a Nurse's voice and deep seated regret flooding her veins.

**ooooo**

"She's stable. She's drifting in and out of consciousness. We need to head straight to theatre, Mr Spence and Mr Griffin are meeting us there. Mary-Claire, could you get the notes sent over to Keller 2 please?" Chantelle tries her utmost not to let her voice waver as she assists the porters in wheeling Jac Naylor through the ward to theatre. She can't keep her faltering gaze off the packs against the upturned wrists, and the way Jac's eyes stare, pleading almost, up at her. The nurse shakes herself more than once; She struggles to keep her eyes on the Obs and see the patient not the person. She's relieved when they burst through the doors of theatre, and are able to pass her onto the anaesthetics team. She's immediately guilty for that relief though, and she glances back fleetingly at the once indestructible Consultant as the injection is deployed and they begin to intubate.

"She's still one of ours." Michael speaks stonily as he and Ric Griffin scrub up for the procedure. Ric glances over at his colleague, seeing the hurt, the disappointment, even the guilt behind Michael's eyes. Diane enters his mind, as she does from time to time. Mostly it's with happy memories; Today that isn't so.

"Are you fit to do this, Mr Spence?"

"Absolutely. What do you say, you take the right, I'll take the left?"

"Sure. We could stitch our initials so she can pick her favourite." It's hard and clinical and it's the only way that either of them can realistically deal with it.

Jac is moved to a private room as she recovers from the anaesthetic after the successful procedure. She's under constant observation, administered by a specialist team. Chantelle peers through the window into the room, met with the familiar bleep that signifies normal circulatory function. She knocks on the door and an unfamiliar Nurse comes to greet her. "Is it alright if I sit with her for a while?" The other nurse looks sceptical, she reminds Chantelle of Mary-Claire a little.

"She won't know you're here."

"She'll be awake soon though." She perseveres, still inwardly trying to make up for her earlier baulk at Jac's condition, and genuinely concerned for her welfare.

"She might not be.. awake awake." The psych nurse puts it cryptically, a half hearted attempt to sugar coat reality, and moves aside so Chantelle can come in and see the patient. She gasps and places her hand over her mouth. Jac is prone on the bed; Catatonic almost, her jaw clenched and eyes open, but vacant, shaking a little. "Don't worry, it's just the drugs." The other Nurse senses her surprise, and tries to placate Chantelle with a sympathetic hand on her shoulder.

"The drugs?" Chantelle's eyes are like saucers, lost as to how anybody could consider this to be okay, and the psych nurse lowers her voice conspiratorially.

"She tried to kill herself during a psychotic episode. This is when they stop banking on the therapy sessions and stick her on a load of meds." She shrugs grimly as if to say, that's life. "This is just an initial reaction to that, it happens sometimes, but it goes away after a day or so." Chantelle nods bravely, feeling anything but, and walks past the nurse to take a seat by Ms Naylor's bedside. In a dramatic departure from her usual caring technique, Chantelle says nothing at all. She takes Jac's hand in hers and looks at her, stoically digesting her current condition and keeping her own expression warm and comforting. After a period of silent consideration the young Nurse manages to see past the state of Dysphoria, and thinks she can connect with the woman in the bed. She looks distressed and confused, which brings red hot stinging tears to the back of Chantelle's eyes. She looks uncomfortable under the marshmallow of duvet; Restricted and uncertain. Chantelle keeps smiling, and keeps hold of the hand that she could swear squeezes her back once or twice, until her break is over and she's forced to return to the ward.

"Her temperature's a little high." The psych nurse looks up from her magazine as Chantelle speaks, this seems to be news to her. "I can bring some sheets up from Keller if you like, thinner than the duvet? I think she might be a bit hot." The nurse nods and smiles superficially before turning her attention back to the magazine, disinterested. Chantelle has to break into a jog as she disappears down the corridor, tears already spilling onto her cheeks. She turns a corner and runs smack into Arthur.

"Oh. Woah. Um. Are you okay?" She grasps a section of his scrub top in each fist and sobs into his chest. "Stupid question. Sorry." He pulls her in tightly, squeezing and shushing until she can get enough breath back to speak.

**ooooo**

It's a phone call. It comes, oddly enough, at a moment when Elliot is surveying the still empty desk that sits before his own and truly missing her egotistical presence on the ward. The 'gap' of such a woman in his life has far transcended Jac Naylor, or even Connie Beauchamp, right back to the moment he first met his bolshy, brilliant wife. Now that gap feels raw, yet numbed. There's a sense of finality that he doesn't like at all. He wishes he could remember a time that he admitted to Jac Naylor that he respected her; That he thought she was a brilliant talent. He continues to stare grimly at the desk as Mr Hanssen passes on the news of her readmission to Holby, and the dreadful circumstances. The finality feels more acute with each curt word that the director of surgery speaks. Doors slam shut for Jac; No more job, no more 'snapping out of it', no more perfect future with her doting man and their child. Elliot utters a solemn, 'I understand' before hanging up. His gaze flicks to the office door. He doesn't want to face the ward. He doesn't want to tactfully spread the news. He doesn't want to be present when Jac's Consultant informs Nurse Maconie that she will not be seeing him. Not for the foreseeable future. Not for a very long time.


	7. 7

**Walls.**

**A/N. I love you guys. Thankyou each and every one for being remotely interested in the strange inner workings of my brain! Hope you're ready for a penultimate chapter X (p.s. it's a biggun..)**

**7.**

Sharon Kozinsky turns off her computer monitor and reaches for her handbag. She blinks a little into the twilight. It's the height of summer and a soft glow is starting to fade as the sun sets; She didn't realise how late it had got. There's a knock at her door and she sighs, confused. Her secretary has long gone and office hours are over.

"Come in." The words are accompanied by an involuntary yawn that she fails to conceal behind her hand. The nurse from Darwin pops his head around the door and Sharon's expression changes a little.

"Have you got a minute?"

"I was just heading home."

"Please?" She studies him carefully, sure of what this must be about. It's been a year and a half since the events that irreversibly altered the tapestry of the Cardio ward. She'd offered her support to Jonny Maconie at the time, and during the weeks that followed, but he'd never taken her up on it. It seemed that he was too proud, or too scared, or maybe just too angry at the Psychiatrist for everything that had happened. She doesn't blame him. If she thinks about it, she's still angry with herself too. Now he's hopping nervously from foot to foot in her doorway.

"Is it about a patient?" She wants to be clear of the ground rules before he steps onto the turf. He stops shifting around and fixes her with a flat gaze.

"It's about Jac. I just have.. questions." He has a genuine open sort of manner and she nods, gesturing towards the chair in front of her desk and taking a seat back down herself. "She sent me a letter." He explains. "She wants me to go and see her." Sharon nods again, warmed by the idea. It's a sign of progression; A stirring within a dormant unfinished tale.

"Are you going to?"

"Of course." He speaks decisively, after a beat. "She's in London now." He continues, unsure of why that's relevant but it had surprised him when he'd seen the letter, although he doesn't know why it should. Without contact, there's no way that he would have known. Sharon stays quiet as she watches the cogs whirring away inside him. He seems conflicted about something and she's waiting for him to reveal it. She's surprised that Jonny didn't know about the Unit in London that Jac had admitted herself to voluntarily a year ago, with Vanessa's referral. Sharon can't remember where she heard the information herself now, from Michael Spence perhaps?

"Jonny, what's worrying you?" He looks at her like she's just asked him what colour the sky is.

"I have no idea what to expect. I don't know anything. I didn't know she'd moved, for christ sakes." His mood has shifted a little as he starts to reveal his stress.

"You know she wants to see you." Sharon points out and he nods, but his jaw is set.

"I want to know what it will be like." He sounds a lot younger than his years. He's an uncertain figure, squirming a little in the office chair, so far from the capable and successful single Father that she's often heard him described as. Sharon sighs.

"I haven't seen Jac since you have." She utters the words apologetically, aware that she'll have to disappoint if he's looking for all the answers.

"She scared me." He admits, so quietly she has to strain to hear him. He sounds ashamed. She knows he's referring to the chance incident with the scissors in the hallway that shook them all up a little, and she can tell it's still dancing across his memory as if it was yesterday.

"She needed treatment." Sharon presses the words onto him firmly. "She's been getting that treatment. What you saw in a hallway was acute psychosis. That wasn't Jac."

"I know, I know all of this!" He exclaims at her, feeling patronised, and irritated by the basic theory that she thinks can answer his worries when they both know it's far more complicated than that. "But, who is she going to be?"

"I don't know." Sharon answers quietly. "You've come here for reassurance Jonny, but, the truth is I don't know. How can I? If she's written to you, I think that's good. As for who she is and what she wants, what either of you want, only you can be brave enough to go and find out." He looks at his lap and fiddles with his hands.

"I'm on hold." He admits. "I just want her back. But I'm scared."

"Of?"

"Of finding that she's.. I don't even know."

"Not on hold?" She answers for him, and he concentrates on the idea for a minute.

"Maybe."

"Go. Stop torturing yourself with what if's and go see her." It's the most unwarranted and forceful piece of advice Sharon thinks she's ever given in a professional setting. She takes a deep breath and wonders if he'll listen.

**ooooo**

Jonny clicks off the engine in a small car park in North London and looks up at the property before him. His insides are churning and he can taste bile. He hasn't eaten today, fearful of an inability to keep anything down caused by the jitters. His car smells like biscuits and that alone is enough to turn him off food. It's Mo's fault, she's always munching en route places, and he brushes crumbs angrily off his jeans as he steps out of the car. He's unfairly irritated with his friend for the events of the morning from which he's still reeling. Mo had been late to collect Becca which had thrown Jonny into an increasingly nervous frenzy, and no amount of apologising had stopped him snapping at her on her arrival. Then, after rushing through the usual garbled shpeel about bottles and nap time that she'd nodded at impatiently, he'd been passing Rebecca over to his friend and she'd said; "Ma!" They'd both frozen, toddler wriggling between them, Jonny's expression icy and hers filled with guilt and concern.

"Jonny, she means Mo I swear. Hey Becs, hey little girl, how are you?"

"Ma!" She repeats as Jonny looks increasingly torn, stricken almost. He ignores it, he knows deep down that it's just an unfortunate similarity accompanied by terrible timing, so he pretends he hasn't heard it and rushes out of the door without saying a proper goodbye.

Now he's sure it's contributed to the nerves he's feeling about this visit to see Jac. The whole crazy complicated situation had been turning itself in knots as he'd driven here. So many different possibilities regarding the now, the future, amalgamating into one success or disaster then shattering again into a thousand new strands of what if. He tries to breathe steadily and heads towards the neatly marked out sign for 'Visitors Reception,' gold on a glossy black door at the top of three stone steps that are framed with well kept pot plants. This reminds him of visiting his Nan in a private care home when he was young, and the similarity unsettles him a little. Once inside the building he is shown into a waiting room where two or three other friends or relatives sit, absorbed in phones or books or magazines. They all look calm, settled, as if they're going about part of a normal daily routine; Waiting to see the dentist or something. He sits, and then stands again, sits somewhere else and starts to fidget with his hands. A blonde woman looks up from an iphone to smile sympathetically at him. He's comforted a little; He feels less alone.

"Mr Maconie?" A nurse pops her head around the door, and he leaps back up onto his feet.

"Yes."

"This way sir." She leads him down a corridor, turns a corner, and he has to trot to keep up. He recognises that efficiency, firm routines and smiles, and he's reminded that this is essentially a Hospital. She comes to an abrupt standstill outside a set of three identical doors labelled as meeting rooms, the first of which has a gold plate slid across to signify that it's engaged. His heart rate quickens. "Jac's waiting for you. If either of you need anything at all I will be just this side of the door." He nods and gulps, incapable of speech. She smiles encouragingly at him and he twists the handle. Pushing the heavy wooden door open takes all the strength he can muster.

Jac springs to her feet on his entrance, in much the same way as he had in the waiting room, moments before. For the most part she looks the same, and he's inexplicably relieved to see that. His heart is still in his throat as he takes her in, standing in front of him, the svelte figure that encapsulates everything good that he remembers about her. She could be a hologram, she could be the woman he knew before the pregnancy and before the attack. He's scared to breathe, but he feels himself smiling, steadying, building up the courage to make some kind of communicative noise or gesture.

Jac smiles. She smiles at his smile and, noticing he's unsure of how to act, she reaches out and takes his hand in hers. Jonny looks a little torn at her move. He's obviously glad that she made it, but finds himself taken aback by how course her skin is against his palm. He looks down at their interlocked hands and sees that hers is an angry red against his, it looks raw and painful.

"It's eczema." She blurts out, following his gaze, and she feels embarrassed. "It's nothing." He loved her skin. It was soft and milky and he could get tingles to the tips of his toes just by stroking her forearm.

"I'm sorry I didn't mean, I mean, hi."

"Hi." He doesn't seem to know what to do with himself. "I won't bite or anything. Not anymore." She adds the last bit with a wink, somehow desperate to break the invisible barrier between them but not quite sure how to do that. She's somebody else, really, and that makes it harder to connect with him when he only knows who she used to be.

"I know, I'm sorry." He irritates himself by sounding like such an idiot, repeating his reflex apology even though it's the kind of apology he knows she hates; Hated? "I'm really glad you invited me here. It's really, really good to see you." It's clear that her smile is genuine at the comment, which makes him even more glad if that's possible.

"Let's walk. Outside?" She tips her head towards the entrance to the garden and speaks with mock confidence. She's no longer used to taking command over a conversation but for some reason she'd like him to think that she still can. He nods in agreement and they make their way outside and across the scrunchy gravel towards an expansive and well kept lawn. There are people around, and he gets an undeniable pang of regret for not elongating their time alone in the meeting room, even if it had been a little awkward. She's peering at him carefully, trying to read his complex expression.

"You can ask, you know. You can ask me anything. I owe you that much at least." It's a loaded statement.

"I don't want you to owe me. I don't want you to have to answer my questions if you don't want to."

"I want to." She promises, eagerly almost.

"Okay," He starts slowly, then shrugs for lack of specific inspiration for this. "What do you get up to?" She laughs at him amiably.

"All sorts of things." She lets her answer echo the vagueness of his question.

"Right." He feels a bit foolish, at a loss. "Er, what did you do yesterday?" He's lapping at the perimeter of his curiosity. He can't gauge how delicate she is, he can't know what topics he should or shouldn't avoid despite her assurance that she's an open book. Jac, in turn, bites her lip. She'd sworn to herself that she'll be honest with him, but it isn't the line of enquiry she was expecting and she's not sure how he'll take this.

"I made notes on Elliot's latest article," she starts carefully, "the one that The Lancet are picking up, and sent them over to him. Then we had a juvenile email argument about syntax. I won." Jonny looks surprised, and she waits diligently for his reaction.

"You're in touch with Elliot?"

"It's just work." She shrugs, playing it down. "He throws me a few bones to keep me occupied. It's mainly proofreading; An F1 could do it." Jonny considers this quietly. He's a little irked with Elliot, if anything, for never mentioning it. He smiles at Jac, kicking his selfish irritation aside.

"Collaboration, not proofreading. That explains why his research is in the limelight, stealing all the critical acclaim lately." She shrugs and looks pleased with the compliment.

"You know Elliot. He just needs.. modernising. He never pays any attention to what's fashionable; What the PR types want to hear."

"You're a good team." Jonny states, on a flattery offensive apparently.

"Yeah, when we don't share four walls maybe." She flicks her wrist dismissively at the idea. "That's not all." She blurts out quickly, glad that he doesn't seem angry with her secretive connections to Holby. "I still speak to Michael Spence."

"Yeah?" Jonny asks quietly.

"Mm. I'm on his 'list'." She raises her hands to put the word in quotations. "Every Wednesday afternoon he rings his kids, his ex wife and his Mother. Then he calls me and pretends he's just doing so to whinge about his salary squandering brood. It's his guilt list." She explains, clearly amused by the notion but grateful all the same. Jonny can't place his opinion on this news so he remains quiet. He must look confused because she's staring at him again. "Are you okay with this Jonny? You're not annoyed?"

"Why would I be annoyed?" She looks sceptical.

"Okay, maybe a bit. Not with you though. I'm here and you invited me and we're talking. I'm just.. happy about that." He reaches for her hand again and they pick up the pace a little as the wind gusts and cools the air. Her hair flies out behind her like a mane, a few strands catch his cheek and send familiar tingles to his gut.

"You keep looking at me!" She's almost giggly, giddy with the idea.

"You can't stop smiling." He says simply. "I used to imagine you like this. I don't know, I thought maybe on our wedding day or something. But I always thought I was just kidding myself of course." He moves in front of her and steps up close, trying to drink in her infectious grin so that it never leaves him.

"I'm not angry anymore. After so many years, you can't understand what that feels like." He looks her in the eyes, searching her expression.

"My god, you're medicated up to your eyeballs, aren't you?" He speaks grimly, the mood twisted slightly, and she looks vaguely sad at his reaction.

"Maybe that's not a bad thing Jonny." He shakes his head, and she has to look away.

"Even when, you know, when you had the scissors. I could still see the fire in your eyes; The real Jac Naylor, the woman I fell in love with. Now you just look, I don't know, dazed."

"Ha." She has to laugh, involuntarily. "One little moment in a corridor over a year ago? My god, you really have no clue." There's a heavy silence. True to form, he's inviting her to tell him. "This is the only way it can be. I promise you I've tried, but, I can't fight forever. This way works." Her soul is full of demons, and his heart calls out for it. Slowly she turns her left arm up to face the sky, proffering it towards him, and his gaze is drawn to the track marks on her forearm, the old scars and the broken veins that look like they belong to a junkie. He's shocked, and she's sorry for that. "If I'm off the meds I can't control anything. Doctors, and, support staff have to control it for me. Forcefully. It's not worth it and it's no fun for anyone." She's scared he'll cry, wondering idly if she knows how to deal with that anymore.

"Talk to me." He speaks evenly, verging on acceptance, she thinks.

"Antidepressants. Antipsychotics. Anticholinergics. Anti anti anti." She hopes he'll smile but of course he remains solemn, starting to make connections.

"And they cause the skin condition?" She nods.

"The Dermatologist wants me to change the Anticholinergics again, but, we decided not to. I feel stable now. It's a trade off I suppose." Jonny frowns.

"But they're to combat the side effects, right? How does that work?" She sighs and looks at her shoes.

"They stop the seizures. They keep the tremors at bay. This," she indicates her raw hands, "I can deal with." There's a heavy silence as he looks at her again properly and tries to stop himself mourning who she used to be. It saddens him to think how much has been thrown at her; How cruel life has been. His mind trips fleetingly into itself, stirring the memory of his older brother crushing a butterfly under his thumb, and oh how Jonny had sobbed. Then he remembers how Mo had eventually broken down on him, around a month after Jac had been attacked. She'd apologised over and over as she'd explained it all to him. Every detail of how she'd found her, and the mess of the flat, and the blood, and the boot print bruise on her back. Then they'd pounded a bottle of whisky and fallen asleep in each other's arms, both needing to be held and feeling a nonsensical guilt that neither of them could comfort the person who needed it most. "Please don't cry." Jonny swallows. He didn't realise he had been.

"Sorry."

"It's not a tears thing. It's a.. positive thing." She repeats that sentiment for what already feels like the hundredth time. She used to put so much effort into convincing the world that she was okay when she wasn't, that to have to try so hard to confirm the truth feels exhausting. "Tell me something about you. Something happy." She grabs his hand in hers again and they start to amble across the grass.

"I got a dog." He blurts out, for want of anything else to share that he's sure is safe. "Labrador." The comment brings a grin back to her lips instantaneously. "What?"

"No, nothing. It's just nice."

"What is?"

"You. A dog. A family. It's a nice image." She leaves a beat, then; "Are you seeing anyone?" He stops dead in his tracks and drops her hand abruptly.

"No. Of course not." She sighs. Conversation between them has never been without turbulence so why should that change now, she supposes.

"I only meant.. you should if you want to. You shouldn't not."

"Only you could make that sound like an order." He mutters quietly, a bit hurt but unsure why.

"Yeah, and only you could think it's a good idea to get a dog when you have a baby." She's smirking and mocking him a little. His shoulders slump and he's conflicted. He's glad that they can still bicker amiably but the turn in conversation reminds him how acutely absent she is in his life.

"I miss you." He doesn't want to burden this on her, but the emotional sentiment trips off his tongue before he can stop it. She looks like she's about to reply but her eyes flick over his shoulder as something else distracts her.

"Emily." He's confused. Then, before he can turn around and follow her gaze he's struck by a sharp impact against his side that causes him to stumble a few steps off balance. "Emily!" He hears Jac repeat the name, more urgently this time, and he's frozen to the spot where he stands, his veins cold and rigid. Flailing limbs beat against his chest, accompanied by banshee shrieks from the petite 'Emily' creature. She's hitting out at him with such determined force that he'd be floored if she was anything more than a waif of skin and bones. His eyes are wide and his heart hammers in his ears, he's reminded so acutely of his misjudgement of Jac in the hallway so long ago that he can't bring himself to move an inch. He has no idea what to do next. The girl swings an arm back and he should recoil but he watches like a bystander as Jac grabs the girl's fist before she can hit him again. He suddenly becomes aware of noise, and people in uniforms running towards the source of the commotion. When he looks back Jac has pulled the girl around into her chest and is stroking her hair, shushing her as she sobs uncontrollably. Jonny watches as the security staff approach at speed, then relent as Jac holds up a hand to signify that the situation is under control; There's no need to intervene. Somebody asks Jonny if he's alright, and he gulps as he watches Jac turn away from him and lead the girl slowly towards a nearby bench.

**ooooo**

"Are you alright?"' He doesn't know how much time has passed. A Nurse gave him a cup of tea and led him to another part of the garden where he now sits on a shallow stone wall and fiddles with the mug. The liquid inside it has long gone cold because he doesn't feel much like drinking it. He looks up to see Jac staring down at him with concern etched across her features. She's concerned for him. It's almost funny.

"Fine." It comes out as a croak and he clears his throat. "Sorry, fine. You?" Jac looks bemused at the enquiry.

"Of course. I'm sorry if Emily scared you; She can be protective." In Jonny's mind the complexity of the issue deepens with her words.

"Of you?" He tries to confirm, finding her expression unreadable. Jac sighs and takes a seat next to him on the wall, removing the mug from his grasp and placing it on the grass as she does so.

"Yes, sometimes. And men are a threat to her." Jac studies his expression as she speaks, wondering if he really wants the gritty details explained or if it'd be better to leave him in the dark with the rest of society.

"Tell me about her." He's not certain where the request has come from, but something in the manner that the girl had with Jac has piqued his curiosity. They seemed to have a bond, and he's somewhere between unspeakably jealous and glad to see her engaging in an honest friendship.

"She's only seventeen." Jac starts sadly. Then she peers up at Jonny, and his sympathetic face, and she gets a spontaneous urge to shock him. "She shot a police officer three times with his own gun." His face twists a little and she regrets her action.

"That's not funny."

"It's not meant to be." She sighs. "The police officer was her father. He abused her for years. And he had friends, too. So one day, three years ago, Emily put down her Biology homework and crept into his bedroom whilst he was taking a shower on his way back to work after a shift in Soho." She spits the last few words of the sentence, her opinion clear, "she picked up his gun and she killed him." Jac leaves a palpable silence, and when she next speaks it's much more quietly. "She hasn't eaten or spoken much since. She can't trust herself. She feels it's the only thing she can control." Jonny doesn't know what to say. He's even more frightened that this young, vulnerable girl reminds him of Jac, and further struck by the way she appears to Mother her. He's an outsider looking in, and he has no right to form an opinion on the health, or lack thereof, of this relationship but it still makes him feel a little uneasy. It makes everything feel a little more raw than it had done before the girl's attack on him. It's the acute side of mental illness that he'd been so afraid of before he came. Inexplicably, he has an urge to get Jac away from this place. He has a deeply rooted jealousy, too; He wants her to speak this knowingly and protectively about Rebecca, and about him, not about some girl called Emily with a head full of demons. "Jonny?" He turns and meets her inquisitive gaze. He realises he's yet to react to the explanation he'd asked for. Still thinking, he replays the scene in his head. It's the way Jac placated the girl so expertly, he realises, that's getting to him most of all.

"I can't help wondering what would have happened if I had pushed my way in." He fixes on the scene in the corridor a year and a half ago, when she had the scissors. The swift set of events that he's overplayed to distortion in his mind.

"What do you mean?" She asks the question, already stumbling towards the answer subconsciously.

"When you were recovering from the attack. What if I'd ignored the doctors? Psychiatric care is so, it's so.."

"Arbitrary?" She finishes for him.

"Yeah. Like a guessing game. What if my guess was right?"

"We'll never know." She answers, looking at him strangely. "What do you want me to say, Jonny? Maybe you could have saved the world and got the girl in Act 1, I can't promise that's not true. Or, maybe this was always how it'd end up for me, everything predetermined long before we even met. I don't know. I can't know." He sees the honesty in her eyes, and somehow it comforts him.

"You just want to look forward." He fills the unspoken gap in her words and he's right on the money. She smiles at him so genuinely, then, and reaches out to grasp his hand within hers.

"Exactly. And, I know London's a big drive and you have a lot going on already but,"

"Every week." He blurts out, eager to snap up this chance at a future. "I could come every week?"

"Yes." She replies instantly. They share an intimate silence. She's looking at him a little shyly, wondering what he thinks of her now, and how she's speaking so candidly. She wonders if he sees it as the progress that she does, or if he thinks she's lost something that he liked about her. Jonny can only think about the elephant in the room that he can't bring himself to mention because he doesn't want to crush the day. He's dying to know what her reaction would be if he brought up Rebecca, because it's something he truly can't predict, but he's too scared. He doesn't think he could cope if she retreated back into herself, away from him. Not now. The nurse from earlier approaches them, and she shares a look with Jac. Their time together is over. So much progress has been made but so much is still unsaid that he's left with a heavy heart as they say a stilted, stiff sort of goodbye to one another.

"Wait, before you go," he turns and she's reaching into the pocket of her jeans, "this is for you." She hands him a cheque that he reluctantly takes off her hands. His eyebrows shoot skywards.

"Fifty grand? Jac, why? I don't understand." He makes to hand it back but she evades him.

"For your daughter, please don't argue with me about it. This isn't some flippant gesture Jonny, it's just, what that money's always been for. I would have given it to you sooner but," she pauses, looking for a delicate way to continue, "I've only recently been allowed to make these kind of decisions." It's another little pinch in the gut; Another painful little bit of information that he'd never considered. He looks away from her as he gratefully nods his acceptance of the money. After all, this is Jac wanting to be involved in her daughter's life in some way. Even if it's always been her plan, this feels like a new step for Jonny and it's a step he can't afford to risk losing. She takes him by surprise and pulls him into a hug.

"See you soon." She whispers, and then she pulls away and turns her back, leaving him to make the short walk back to his car alone. He's numb to his surroundings as he does so. A glass wall shuts him off from normal sights and sounds. He's flooded only with the image of her retreating away towards the building, trademark fiery hair cascading down her back as she leaves him, again. He sits in the front seat with no interest in moving, starting the engine, going anywhere. The stench of biscuits is more bitter and suffocating than ever. He places his hands on the wheel and notices, for the first time, how violently they're shaking. He starts the engine, desperate for background noise, and punches the radio on with his palm. The silence is punctured briefly by the cackle of a cockney DJ, laughing at him, mocking him, and he punches it straight back off again. Then he's bashing at the car with both hands, attacking the steering wheel and the dashboard with an uncontrollable rage and sobbing so hard he's almost retching. His chest heaves and aches as he wails, letting everything out. Pushing it free of himself with a painful roar.

**ooooo**

Jac walks stiffly back into familiar surroundings; The building that has helped her to feel safe for the last year. It feels different, a little twisted by the memory of his presence here. Her two lives facing up to one another and altering each other slightly. In some ways it's no longer her safety net, she's no longer sealed off from anything she wants to be. In other ways it's a little more whole, it's getting closer to representing something real, the thing that she's fighting for. She's overwhelmed by the idea, and she gravitates towards the office just beside the reception desk, where the door is open ajar. She hovers near it, her intention unclear to herself and her chest feeling strange. It's a raw sort of hurt that she doesn't recognise and hasn't felt for a very long time.

"Come in." The soft voice of the on call Psychiatrist calls from beyond the door, sensing a presence. Jac obliges, slipping through the gap stealthily and barely making a noise as she creeps towards the consultation bed. She hops up onto it and lies on her back, one hand on her stomach and the other creeping instinctively to cover her mouth. She has the Psychiatrist's full attention now. "How was your visit?" The woman asks, aware of the importance, the pressure felt by today's meet. Jac feels hot, her head spinning, and a prickly lump creeping up her throat for the first time since that night; Since the attack. She's choked by the first sob, and the second and the third, and she rolls onto her side as thick wet tears stream down her cheeks and dampen the paper sheet beneath her. A soothing hand rubs her shoulder and mutters words of comfort and encouragement, studying her carefully.

"I've been so blind." She whispers, barely able to get the words out. Her head full of hope whilst her body disparages.


	8. 8

**Walls.**

**Well here you go! C'est fin. I'm going to be on the edge of my seat waiting for your opinions on this.. on here / twitter! It's also now longer than my undergrad dissertation ever was, life fail?! Thankyou for the feedback so far & in advance for anything that anybody has to say about this bit! X Sarah**

**8.**

"_Mo!" He's breathless on the phone, distracted and jumpy. "Mo, can you looks after Becs tomorrow morning? Just a couple of hours?"_

"_Er, sure, I think so. Jonny what's going on?"_

"_It's going to happen!" He stumbles over the words, excited. "We're going to be a family."_

**ooooo**

Jac feels giddy. Her heart is hammering at twice its natural speed and her head is spinning with surprise at herself. It's January. It's almost midnight and it's freezing, and she feels that so acutely. To feel is wonderful, magical, a privilege. Her nose is tingling in the icy air and she's grinning, eyes stinging and arms shivering with the cold. Jonny has been visiting every Saturday for six months now, and she feels closer to him than she could ever have imagined, or ever wished for. But today is Monday, and that's why she's giggling with the idea of seeing his face tonight. It's something that goes sharply against the grain of her routine, that which she thought was her crutch. No, this is spontaneity, and it feels glorious. She'd jumped on the tube at Turnpike Lane with no real action plan and now she's at St Paul's. Somebody had been smiling down on her because she'd found an Oyster card, dropped, in the entrance to the station. It has twenty quid on it, and she explains this to a tramp that she gives it to on the Cathedral steps. Once past the iconic landmark she dives down a narrow street in the mish-mash network that makes up the oldest part of the city. She's come here instinctively for this is where she lived as a student, in the basement of the hotel that she worked in. The streets are awash with faceless suits and laughter, huddled groups shrouded in cigarette smoke spill out of pubs. Some of them wander alone, stumbling, too far lost in the capillaries of confusion to be having a good time like the others. She takes the streets as she always has, catlike, sticking to the perimeters and blending into walls so that most wouldn't even notice her presence. She knows these streets better than she does the network of scars across her wrists. Streets that she hasn't crossed in years, stamped vividly on her brain, compared with the raised bumps on her flesh that she traces every night with her thumb. Her heart rate calms as she weaves expertly through them, comforted by the distant familiarity that makes her feel so alive. She turns a corner and finds what she's looking for, exactly where she left it. Her step slows and the corners of her lips twitch up a little, it feels like fate. The same cracked glass door and the same dingy neon sign. She trots up the steps and into the reception area of the 24 hour taxi firm, her eyes alight. "I need to go to Holby."

**ooooo**

Jonny is well aware that he shouldn't let Rebecca have any sleeping pattern that she pleases. He should be firm, and he should follow the rules set by his self proclaimed expert friends at work, and he shouldn't be sitting cross legged on the play mat in the living room at nearly 3am building a castle out of plastic squares. She's two, and she has a temper as fiery as her pigtails, and he's splitting so much time between work and Jac lately that he finds himself constantly missing her. That's why he can't resist her nocturnal tendencies. That's why he'll let the Nanny moan about her tantrums and her tiredness because she's been indulged with playtime in the wee hours. He feels a bit guilty, and selfish, but he's so worn out that he doesn't have the energy to give it too much thought. If nothing else, life has taught him that you snatch the happiness wherever you can. The doorbell interrupts him in the middle of his expressive shpeel as the Ogre that lives in the moat, and he frowns. "Who's that then, Becs?" He's confused, protective of his daughter and therefore a little more thrown off by a mystery midnight caller than he would have been as a bachelor. The doorbell rings again.

"Who dat?" She repeats the phrase, it's one of her current favourites.

"Stay here baby girl." He leaves her on the play mat, knowing full well that she'll make it her mission to be as far away from it as possible by the time he gets back, but persevering with the instruction anyway. His breath catches in his throat as he answers the door. Her name is on his tongue but he's speechless. Her eyes are wild and she looks as overwhelmed as he feels, which is confirmed as he sees them glaze over with a sheen of tears. She's breathless, from the stairs perhaps, and her hair is loose and windswept. He looks her up and down out of habit, because often there's a new ailment of some sort and he likes to keep up to date. Sometimes her skin will be flaring up or she'll have a chest infection; The lasting effect of a dormant section of lung where a cracked rib never quite healed properly. She looks good, apart from a splint on her left wrist that he already knows was due to a faint getting out of the shower. It reminds him of her fragility, and all the reasons why she lives where she does now. But she's here, and she's traipsed across the country in the dead of night on her own, and he's suddenly as uncertain of her state of mind as he ever has been. "You left the Unit?" Stating the obvious feels like a natural way to go.

"Yep." She's stilted, as unsure of the situation as he is, not expecting this awkward greeting but not expecting anything else for lack of forethought. "It's um, they're not, coming after me or anything. I'm not absconding from prison, Jonny." He wants to ask her why, but as usual he's too scared to push her so he remains silent.

"Who dat?" Her eyes flick over his shoulder and her lips part a little in surprise. Jonny can't breathe; He studies her so intently and he wishes he could be inside her head as he watches her lay eyes on her daughter, who's on all fours in the hallway now, for the first time.

"That's um. That's your Mum, Becs." His eyes are still trained on Jac.

"Oh." It's a bright little flippant squeak; A well versed routine. A question she'll ask and a response to his answer that the toddler will repeat a hundred times a day, usually when he's on the phone. The true gravity of this situation is lost on her of course. The meaning of this moment is unimportant to a child who is loved, who has experienced nothing but love, and who will welcome new faces into her fledgling existence without prejudice.

"See." Jonny barely whispers. "You're not too late." Jac's eyes have dried. She's shivering, or shaking a bit, entranced by the child on the floor. Her expectation, of course, hadn't got this far either. She hadn't forgotten, she doesn't think, she just hadn't thought. She hadn't thought this through at all. Her head spins and she places her good hand hastily on the door frame to steady herself and blinks. Jonny's studying her closely, he looks terrified. They're all balancing in a split second of impossible equilibrium, a coin spinning on a table, baited breaths waiting to see which way it falls. A snap of pure belief says it might not fall at all, it might slow and remain balanced against the odds. "Come in." He breaks the moment with a crash, impatience winning. "Come on, come in. You're freezing." She dithers in the doorway, back to earth and head turning to practicalities.

"There's a cab downstairs. It's um, sorry, it's quite a bill." She looks at her shoes and he leads her forwards into the hallway by her elbow.

"I'll sort it." He promises lightly, grabbing his wallet from the table by the door and disappearing at a jog. He has to get back to her as fast as he can because the questions are already starting to form, piling up, craving an explanation. He rings Mo on his way down the stairs. She's unimpressed by the hour but willing to help out. He's so giddy he barely knows what he's saying and she sounds sceptical and concerned. She wants him to be careful. Her sentiment strikes him properly on his way back up the stairs. He realises he's left Jac and Rebecca alone in his flat with no idea how volatile the situation is. He's flooded with panic, oddly reminded of a Maths problem where a farmer leaves a fox and a chicken by a riverside and one eats the other, and he takes the stairs three at a time with his pulse in his ears. He crashes back through the door that's been left ajar, gasping for breath and finding the hallway empty. There's a gurgly giggle from the living room and he stops short at its entrance, pausing to catch his breath and taken aback by the scene before him.

Jac feels numb. She knows that this will all hit her, that later it might hurt, but for now the feelings are suppressed. She's already overwhelmed by strange sensations so, from this moment at least, she remains emotionally detached. Warmed to her core and definitely okay. She follows the child through the flat, over to a large mat that's laid out in front of the sofa. Rebecca is silent, quietly inquisitive as opposed to shy, and she proffers a red plastic brick with a turret drawn on it by hand to Jac. She smiles, takes the present, and sits cross legged opposite the child, unable to guess that she's mirroring Jonny's earlier position. The castle is forgotten, abandoned, because Jac herself has become the most curious object in the room. Rebecca pushes herself up into a standing position, using Jac as leverage and grabs a whole fist full of her loose locks, transfixed by their unusual length and hue. Jac lets the child play, one hand instinctively hovering around her back to ensure she doesn't loose her tentative footing, the other still clutching onto the red brick. This is when Jonny reappears in the doorway, breathless and concerned, seemingly surprised to witness the smiles.

**ooooo**

They are resigned to the fact that they won't sleep until they've talked. Rebecca had spent a solid ten minutes examining Jac, who had remained equally as enraptured with her daughter, until they reluctantly agree that she really should be put to bed and there'll always be tomorrow. Now Jac waits diligently on the sofa in the living room, looking up with a smile as Jonny reappears clutching a baby monitor.

"Not much point." He waves the object in the air. "When she wakes up she needs a mute button not a transmitter, believe me. Quite the set of lungs." He's babbling and he knows it. In six months of visits to the Unit this is still the first time they've confronted the idea of their child together. Jac remains calm; He has a knack of making her feel like more than an outsider. Even now, as she's stepping into this life of his that she knows nothing about, his genuine demeanour makes her feel relaxed. He, in turn, looks a little uncomfortable in his own living room as he takes a seat next to her, knowing the small talk can't last forever. "So."

"So?"

"You're here." He still hasn't got past that bit. She nods carefully.

"I really wanted to see you. I'm sorry, I'll pay you back for the taxi." If she had any inkling of what kind of reception she was expecting, she thought it'd be easier than this. They've become so comfortable with each other recently, and it saddens her to think it's an equilibrium that only exists within the safe confounds of the Psychiatric Hospital.

"No, no. Don't. I'm glad you're here. More than you know." She looks sceptical, which is unsurprising considering his palpable unease. "I mean it. It's just, are you okay? Is everything okay?" He avoids the 'why' word, she notices, relieved for that at the moment.

"I'm good. I'm really fine, I promise." She holds his gaze as she speaks. It's only a sort of lie, an indirect one. A white one. "Better than ever." In many ways, it's not a lie at all. He juts his chin out a little, believing her and getting an urge to test the waters.

"So, you wanted to see me?"

"Needed. Both of you." She clarifies, glad to see that this sentiment, at least, unleashes a reckless grin from him. A happy moment that he won't let rationale spoil. It's one of her favourite things about him, his penchant for living in the now, and not questioning the good turns.

"Can I ask you a question?" He tries. His head is spinning and suddenly the things that have been on his mind for two years, eating their way through levels of his paranoia, are trying to trip off his tongue like a sandwich order.

"Anything."

"I know that you weren't yourself at the time. Maybe you can't answer me, maybe you don't even know, but, it's just, it was such a long time. More than a year, and." She's concentrating on his words intently. "Why did you shut me out? Why just me?" She bites her lip, but doesn't need long to consider the question.

"Because I love you." She speaks as if that's the answer to everything. He sighs, frustrated.

"That does'nae make any sense, Jac."

"I know. So, you're right, I probably can't explain it to you. I can't trust myself around you Jonny. My whole life has been about control, but the way I feel about you, and about that little girl, is anything but. It's a sort of love that's about instinct, and unfightable urges, and when I feel like that I don't know what I'll do next."

"I don't get it. I don't get how, out of everything, that can be what frightens you away."

"Because, not trusting myself is dangerous. On some level you've got to understand that. It's self destructing. It's almost getting myself killed in the name of protection." He frowns a little as she becomes breathless.

"Jac, it's okay. You don't have to."

"I do." She's firm and determined because she's started now. "Jonny, it's like, I can't be rational and that's what overwhelms me. I make the wrong decisions. I take stupid risks that put me on the edge of screwing up everything I've ever wanted in the name of it. You're right, it doesn't make sense. But there it is." The air is dense in the wake of her words. He still doesn't understand; Hates himself for not understanding. It's a confession that goes to explain so many of the fundamentals about Jac Naylor. The unchangeable characteristics brought about by unfortunate twists in nature and nurture. "When I'm with you, I'm standing on the edge of oblivion. I've seen the way you look at me, like you're scared of which way I'll fall. I don't know any more than you do. Can you relate to that at all?"

"Yes. No. That answers everything and nothing."

"I don't think there are any answers. You know, they used to treat psychosis with burr holes to let the evil out. And for all they know now, it could still be the most successful cure." He doesn't think she's serious but he's unnerved by how little evidence her expression holds to the contrary. He leaves a lengthy silence, and she lets him. She can feel herself tiring and she's glad he hasn't questioned her change of heart about her approach to recovery; Her sudden appearance that's ill considered at best. He watches her face, and a badly concealed yawn tells him that their situation is likely to make more sense after a few hours sleep. To Jac, it looks like he's still over thinking it. "I worry about what you must think of me, Jonny. About what I've put you through." She reaches forward and strokes her thumb underneath his tired eyes, her face full of concern. "What do you think about, when you can't sleep at night?" He can see the anguish, and the guilt in her expression. He shuffles closer to her on the sofa and urges her to lean into him a little. She does, and she turns her shoulders so he can rest his chin against her hair and they can continue candidly without the nerve shattering challenge of eye contact.

"I think." He starts. "Or, I wonder, what it feels like. For you, I mean. I try to imagine what you're going through." She doesn't know what to say to that, having already proclaimed herself exhausted of ways to explain the link between her feelings and her actions. "The thing that happened." She knows by now that he's referring to the incident in the corridor with the scissors. She's guilt ridden by how much it seems to haunt him. For her, it's part of a blurry, vacant time that she can't connect to her own reality or history. "Because, you were so scared. I've never seen anybody that scared. I try to imagine what that feels like." He shrugs against her. "I try to wish myself into your shoes because, if I could, I'd take this all away from you in a shot. But it's, you know it's so, like, I can't even imagine what I'd be taking." She twists around in his arms, cupping one of his cheeks with her hand and pressing her face against the other one. She squeezes her eyes tightly shut and is unable to combat the stray tears that trip off her eyelashes with the action. Tears for lost days, and tears that he too feels against his cheek. She doesn't think she's ever felt closer to another person, and she knows with such a certainty how much she loves him, and how much she hates that it's taken this long.

**ooooo**

Jonny creeps around his flat, subconsciously hunting for something that his hands could do. He feels like an idiot as he stalks stealthily up and down the short corridor between the two doors, Rebecca's and his own, each of which are open a crack and contain the two most important people in his life. He heard Jac get out of the shower in his bathroom and he's waiting for her to change into the set of pyjamas he left on the bed. Then he doesn't know what'll happen. He wonders if he should sleep on the sofa or embracing the Mother of his child, as he's dreamt about doing for so long. He pauses outside his bedroom, his attention caught by the movement from inside. From a certain angle he can see the full length mirror on the wardrobe door and she's reflected in it, dropping a fluffy towel and pulling on a pair of checkered pyjama bottoms. His breath catches in his throat and he looks away, then back again, then almost chokes. She's been picked apart and patched back together again in every possible way. That never ceases to surprise him. Her torso is mottled with over-tight skin, one patch in particular creeps from her stomach all the way around her back, shallow scarring from a previous attack of raw, itchy eczema. He sees the scar from the C section, too, and the way it's a deep purple against her pale complexion. It's messy, as were the circumstances of the Op, and not so well taken care of as her other scars. Lost in the fray, perhaps, or just too painful to face everyday? He feels tears in his eyes and he curses himself for he still loves her, and her physical appearance shouldn't affect him like this. He swallows and looks away, until he hears a gasp that draws his attention. Her arms rest forward on the dresser now. She's holding a t-shirt in a tight fist and her head is bowed, as if she's trying to steady herself before daring to put it on. He creeps back a few careful paces towards the lounge before calling after her.

"Jac? You okay?"

"Um." He can still see her frame in the mirror, and he's startled her. She starts to struggle with the t-shirt, clearly still feeling woozy and holding herself upright with the dresser. "Yeah, mm hm, one minute." He curses under his breath and pushes the door open, making her jump and squirm. She snakes her arms around her stomach, self conscious and trying to conceal her reality from him, which hurts if he's honest. She's weary, stumbling, and he envelops her in his grasp and leads her to sit down on the bed.

"Jac it's fine. Hey, it's fine. Here," He helps her put the t-shirt on and she avoids his gaze, hating this sudden onslaught of vulnerability. She stands again and he joins her, instinctively acting as her crutch. "Jac, Jesus." She's stumbling again, her face almost grey and her eyes squeezed shut. "You're going to faint."

"No," she manages in a whisper. "Sick." She retches and he sweeps her towards the bathroom, letting his knees buckle with her and keeping one arm around her waist, one holding back her hair, as she expels the contents of her guts into his toilet. He sits diligently behind her, a chair, a rock, as she vomits and grimaces between bouts of it. He studies her face as she leans back into him, exhausted. He thinks this looks like something he recognises; It seems like something he's seen her work through before.

"Are you changing the meds again?"

"Yeah. Coming off them, slowly." It's not a lie, but she still feels guilty for the proud squeeze he gives her shoulder. "I've been getting dehydrated. I'm supposed to be on IV fluids." This explains the weakness, and he nods into her hair. It's still not a lie, just not the truth either. She knows she's putting an assumption, a connection in his head that she'll have to correct later, but for now she just wants a bit more time.

**ooooo**

"Feeling better?" Jonny's surprised to see Jac rejoin him in the living room, the colour back in her cheeks. He's been ensconced in his thoughts since he left her on request, oblivious to the passing of time and turning a red plastic brick over and over in his hands. She nods at him tentatively and he decides that she doesn't necessarily look like she's done throwing up so he jumps off the sofa and ushers her into his seat. She takes the brick off him as he does so and he looks at her strangely.

"What? She gave it to me, it's mine." He grins at her childish comment then darts off towards the kitchen, returning moments later with a bottle. "Lucozade?" She raises an eyebrow at him.

"Rehydration. Well, the oldies are the best!" He hands it to her and she grasps it gratefully.

"No I mean, why do you have a fridge full of Lucozade?!"

"Not a fridge full just a multipack. Or two." He puffs his chest out defensively. "It's a sports drink!"

"What's that, in lieu of actually doing any exercise? I'm not sure that's how it works." He pouts at her.

"I do weights." He's stretching the truth a bit, but his toddler and elderly patients who need help to get to the toilet do in fact have weight. "Bloody heavy ones." He reiterates as he thinks about it.

"If you actually did weights your job wouldn't give you such a backache." She comments wryly, seeing right through him and causing him to snatch his hand away from the small of his back, which he's rubbing self indulgently. She makes a face as she gulps back the drink and he remembers her inhuman aversion to sweet things. He debates whether or not to get her a Berocca instead, and whether it'd be worth opening himself up to a whole new line of ridicule if she saw his extensive stash of that. It's not his fault. He's incredibly susceptible to bulk buy offers in Tesco. "I like your castle." She breaks the new silence, still turning the brick over in her hands and rubbing her thumb affectionately over the marker pen turret that he's drawn on it. He shrugs.

"Well at least somebody does. Becs doesn't fancy my carpentering skills. She commandeered all the tools and staged a vote of no confidence when I was called away to an important conference call with Auntie Mo." He indicates a corner of the coffee table as he speaks, where the wood has been stained by an extensive array of marker pen scribblings.

"Smart girl." Jac comments through a wide smile.

"Yeah, she never misses an opportunity to deface something." He rolls his eyes, remembering the incident with the last Nanny's white linen trousers, and his ill considered comment about her choice of attire that lead to her storming out and leaving him with a dry cleaning bill.

"Tell me more about her." Jac blurts out suddenly. Jonny pauses for a moment, warmed by the question and wondering where on earth to start.

"She's a cheeky wee madam." He summarises. "Not shy. I guess you got that." He stops again, trying to find the words to describe the personality of a toddler, who he usually only talks about in anecdotes until colleagues roll their eyes with boredom. Mary Claire openly threatened to un-friend him on Facebook if he uploaded one more 'cheesy photo.' He smiles as the thought pops into his head, and leaps back up off the sofa to retrieve his laptop from his bag. "Hang on a sec," Jac shifts in her seat, intrigued by his sudden action. "I've got a ton of photos." He starts to fire the thing up. "She has this little thing she does when she says 'no', stropping, she puts her hands on her hips and just glares at you, I swear she's the spit of you! It's so hard not to laugh. It kills Elliot." Jac leans in over his shoulder as he starts to scroll through albums.

"Wait." She holds her hand over his. "Go back. Start here." She picks the date that has so much gravitas attached to it, the 20th October 2013, and quickly locates the first few snaps that she's looking for. They're a little blurry at full screen size, taken hastily with a shaky hand and a flash reflected in the grainy perspex that separates the photographer from the inquisitive little face. She squeezes his hand more tightly, tears springing to her eyes, mesmerised by the image of her newborn baby. She clicks forward a couple of times and exclaims aloud, a choked gasp, when she finds the moment that Rebecca opened her eyes for the first time. She's oblivious to the way Jonny's eyes are trained on her so intently. His hands are clasped around her forearm now and he doesn't ever want to let go. He feels as if he's being given everything he ever wanted from day one, her pure unadulterated joy a gift to watch. It's unlike him to keep such an organised documentation of anything, that's more her style, but as he watches Jac's reaction to each photo, and hears the genuinely instinctive noises she makes at them, he realises this has been his purpose all along. After a little while he takes control of the keypad again, and accompanies the slideshow with a babbling commentary as she leans her head against his shoulder. His voice becomes hoarse and his back aches from the slumped position they're in before he eventually sees that she's fallen asleep against him. He smiles and shuts the laptop, placing it silently down onto the coffee table. She's woken by his stirring. "Mmm. Sorry." She speaks groggily.

"Shh." He tells her instinctively. "Let's get some sleep. Are we, sharing the bed?" She looks unsure at his suggestion, and he wonders if it's the self conscious anxiety from earlier. He doesn't know how to approach that, reassure her, without making it worse.

"If you want." He sighs.

"I just want to look after you." She nods and he hopes it's genuine. They head to the bedroom and she sneaks gratefully beneath the sheets, eyelids already drooping before he sets a glass of water on her bedside table and brushes a strand of hair away from her face. By this point his alarm is less than an hour from sounding, so he flicks it off. She sleeps fitfully, and he barely closes his red rimmed eyes at all. Every time she murmurs or shifts under the sheets it piques his attention and distances him further from slumber, just as he had been when he first brought Rebecca home. She creeps closer to him over the next few hours, and by the time the pale winter sunlight creeps through the blinds and a tiny set of hands push the door open she's nestled in his embrace.

**ooooo**

"Morning." Jac opens her eyes with a sleepy smile. Sunlight fills the room and Jonny perches on the bed and sets a steaming mug beside her. "Double strength filter coffee with steamed milk, no sugar." He announces proudly, and she draws herself up against the pillows as her nostrils welcome the scent. The action sends a searing pain through her skull and she winces, bringing her injured hand up to her head. "How're you feeling?" He adds, with a note of concern.

"Headache, it's fine. Morning. And thank you." She takes a tentative sip of the coffee, feeling achy, stomach churning, which makes her acutely aware that she needs to end this fairytale.

"You look pale." He speaks carefully. "You said you should be on IV fluids." She shuts her eyes, the topic a little heavy when she hasn't even brushed her teeth yet, and she heaves herself off the pillows more energetically than she'd like to.

"Where's Rebecca?"

"Mo's taken her for a few hours." He utters the words apologetically and her eyes flick to the alarm, widening when she notices it's gone nine.

"Right."

"There's breakfast in the kitchen. You need to eat." He gives her shoulder a squeeze then leaves her to get changed. Jac takes the process slowly, and with the bedroom door firmly closed this time, before padding through the flat to find Jonny hovering over a sizzling pan that smells like eggs whilst smoke starts to billow from the toaster. She flicks it off and snatches the toast onto the waiting plate as she walks past, grabbing his attention, and noting that this is the most domesticated version of him she's ever seen. "Food!" He announces decidedly, tipping the eggs from the pan onto the plate she proffers, balking a bit at the amount of oil he lets slither on after them. "You need to eat." He repeats quietly, noticing her expression.

"I know, but don't take it personally if this reappears." She tips the plate and her expression turns into a grimace as a yolk breaks and mingles with the puddle of grease. "Actually, do." He laughs and pushes her in the direction of the sofa, muttering something about a good hearty breakfast in a comically broad accent. She munches carefully through a slice whilst he wolfs down the other, and then they find themselves in much the same position as the evening before. Slightly refreshed, but with unfinished business nonetheless.

"Jac-"

"Why?" She finishes for him, and he pauses, then nods. "I have something I need to tell you." Her tone turns, silencing him, and for a moment she has absolutely no idea how to start. She opens her mouth to say it but chickens out, and an image of the person she's been thinking a lot about lately springs into her mind. "My Mother." She twists inwardly as she exclaims the words under her breath, surprising herself, and then she starts to talk. "It's funny really, that this all comes back to her. It feels a bit like fate. Of course, I never believed in fate. But it feels like it was always meant to be this way, or something." He takes her hand in his, foreboding, silent.

"What do you mean?"

"These past two years I've had a lot of time to think. Thinking about how a Mother could leave her child, could be anywhere else but at home, and all the different kind of motivations for that. I always used to think it was simple but it isn't. I know my Mum was a really, really crappy parent. I know that what she did was wrong, but, I'm starting to think I can empathise with it. That there can be reasons. I understand her and I see that in myself, too. That selfishness." Jonny shakes his head vigorously.

"You're wrong. You'll never let us down because you won't stop fighting. You're the most unselfish, loyal, strongest person I know." He harks back to words spoken to him by Sacha Levy, as Jonny had cradled his newborn in his arms, a lifetime of hope ago.

"I've already let her down. More than she'll hopefully ever have to know."

"You haven't. You're here now, that's what counts." She looks away from him, eyes glazing over and a head full of conflicting emotions.

"I got my tests back." She speaks quietly, regretfully, referring to the routine set of samples that were taken after she fainted because she was probably a bit anaemic. "I'm ill, Jonny." His heart thunders in his chest as he tries to read her expression, frightened of what it might tell him. He wants to say 'yes', yes I know you are but you're getting better and everything is going to be okay. He knows that isn't what she's talking about though. He just knows something big must have happened, that before this is over there's got to be one final twist. There'll be a knife in his gut, a cruel trick from the gods that just aren't done torturing them yet. One more hurdle. The last hurdle. He just knows.

"Go on."

"It's the long term medication. I always knew this might happen, it's not really a surprise."

"Jac, tell me."

"My kidney's failing." The room is dampened with her words. The life is crushed out of his flat for a minute. The implications are clear. She always knew this might happen. She always knew it was kill or cure.

"No."

"I'm sorry."

"No, not now, no."

"Jonny,"

"You'll be okay." He pulls her towards him and she's a featherweight in his arms, brimming with lethargy. "I'll sort it. We'll find a donor, everything will be okay."

"There's nobody." She whispers, trying to abate his optimism because what goes up must come crashing back down and the higher you climb the harder the fall. She knows that better than anybody. She knows what it feels like to be left to rot and to be broken in every way. The last twist is a harsh one, a little bit of evil, a mocking joke that her own Mother still had something left to take and to be blamed for; Another way to hurt her that's out of anybody's control.

_Fin._


End file.
